‘This is a deliberate tactic,’ Maleneth said, shaking her head, surprised she had not realised sooner. ‘Their leader must be some kind of sorcerer. He hurls this bone rain at his enemies, and then, by the time the mordants arrive, there’s nothing left to fight.’
One of the ghouls was just a few feet away, and as she passed, it leapt at her. She dodged easily, lashing out with her knives as the spitting wretch stumbled on, spilling its blood across the dusty road.
As the ghoul thudded to the ground, dozens more lurched towards her, grunting and grabbing pieces of wreckage.
Trachos hammered two into oblivion, humming as he fought, and Maleneth cut down more, but there were already hundreds spilling from the streets, tearing at each other in their frenzy to feed.
Maleneth and Trachos ran on along the one remaining path through the mob and reached the approach to the tower.
Gotrek was almost at the doors, silhouetted by the light leaking through the walls, when something odd happened.
The ghouls backed away, moving in unison, as though responding to a silent command.
Maleneth staggered to a halt, confused. ‘What are they doing?’ The ghouls were acting as if they had regained control of their senses, shuffling together and even trying to form regimented lines, like an army of drunks attempting to look sober for a parade. ‘Are they ghouls or not?’
Trachos waved her on. ‘It doesn’t matter – we need to reach that tower. Volant will be waiting in the Halls of Separation.’
Maleneth shook her head as she studied the crowds. ‘It’s like they’re still human.’ She gave Trachos a warning look. ‘Surely you, of all people, want to know what you’re killing?’
He slowed to a halt and looked around. ‘They’re flesh-eaters.’
The ghouls were still hunched, aberrant horrors, convulsing and snatching, but they were trying to form orderly lines and none of them were making any attempt to attack. They had made a living colonnade down the length of the boulevard, and dozens more were joining their ranks every second. Maleneth guessed that there must already be a few hundred.
Gotrek halted and looked back at the grotesque parade while Maleneth and Trachos jogged towards him.
‘What are they playing at?’ he demanded as they reached him. ‘Why are they doing this?’
They both shook their heads and stared back down the boulevard. There was now a vast crowd of the flesh-eaters, huddled together in a strange semblance of order. Many of them still wore shreds of clothing, and some might have almost passed for normal if not for their blank eyes and awkward, jerking limbs.
‘Maybe that’s why,’ said Trachos, pointing his sceptre towards the city walls.
Maleneth stared into the distant gloom and saw what looked like a flock of birds soaring over the rooftops, heading straight for them. She quickly realised the truth. They were the huge, bat-like things they had seen through Trachos’ spyglass on the city walls. She heard their dreadful, screeching cry echoing through the streets.
‘Khaine’s blood,’ she hissed. ‘Not these things again.’
‘No,’ said Gotrek, jabbing his axe at the winged monsters. ‘They are not the same.’ He laughed as they flew closer and were lit up by the light of the tower. ‘These are noble steeds.’
The riders were straight-backed and proud, their chins raised, and banners trailed from their saddles. Some wore pieces of broken barrel on their heads, like crowns, and some carried pieces of wreckage on their arms, as though they were shields. But their flesh was as ravaged as the figures lined up to greet them, and their bodies were just as gnarled and misshapen.
‘It’s the Ghoul King!’ roared Gotrek, grinning. ‘How regal he looks on his giant, dead bat.’
Maleneth waved a knife at the expectant crowds of ghouls lined up in front of them. ‘What would happen to these legions of flesh-eaters if you killed their noble leader?’
Gotrek raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting idea.’
‘We need to enter the tower,’ said Trachos. ‘Gotrek has sworn to guard the Unburied until the prince and Lhosia have performed their spell.’
Maleneth shook her head. ‘A spell that will save the Unburied, but not necessarily us. They were notably vague on that point.’ She pointed at the surrounding streets. Ghouls were shuffling closer from every direction, lining up with the others. ‘Can you see how many of these things there are? And look over there.’ She pointed further out into the city, back the way they had come. Columns of figures were marching beneath the Ghoul King, countless hundreds of mordants arriving from the Eventide.
Gotrek sucked at his beard, frowning, considering her words.
Then the light in the tower pulsed with renewed energy, scattering beams across the underside of the clouds, and a bell rang out, dull and tuneless, like the one they had heard when they first reached the borders of Morbium.
They all turned to look at the building. It was like a coiled white tusk, peppered with circular windows. The smooth, honeycombed walls were made of polished bone, and as the light grew, the tower looked like a shimmering flame.
‘Something’s happening up there!’ cried Gotrek, scowling. ‘They’ve bloody started without me.’ He waved his axe at the army gathering behind them. ‘There will be plenty of time to deal with these morons.’ With that he turned and raced through the doors of the tower.
Maleneth and Trachos followed him into an atrium, slamming the doors shut behind them. The smooth, undulating walls of the tower contained no floors, only a single spiral staircase at its centre, surrounded by a wide, open, circular space. The staircase climbed to a central platform hundreds of feet above, and the walls were hung with thousands of white, wing-shaped shields, all covered in lines of poetry. There was something eerie about such an enormous space, devoid of rooms or furniture and bathed in purple light, and Maleneth paused for a moment, shaking her head. She felt as though she was in a dream.
The light was coming from about halfway up the walls, where the shields were replaced by hundreds of cocoons that nestled in the curves, burning with inner light. After the noise and violence of the last few days, Maleneth was shocked to find that the tower was quiet. Other than the echoes of the bell, there was a strange, peaceful hush. The screeching of the terrorgheists had been silenced as soon as they shut the doors. It was as though they had stepped into another realm.
She looked out through the nearest window and saw that the ruined city was still there, along with the crowds of ghouls, but their din had been silenced.
‘Witchblade,’ said Trachos, rushing past her and heading up the stairs.
She snapped out of her reverie and saw that the Slayer was climbing up into the light, moving fast.
Maleneth ran over to the staircase. The spiral was broad and shallow, but circling at such a pace still made her dizzy after a few minutes of running, and the building was so huge that she felt as though she was making no progress, turning without climbing in a soundless void.
The bell rang out again. Inside the tower it was deafening, and Maleneth cursed, clamping her hands over her ears as the sound reverberated through her skull.
Just as the ringing seemed to be fading, the wall of the tower caved in, slabs of bone and metal tumbling across the steps.
Maleneth dropped into a crouch as a terrorgheist screamed into view, thrashing its wings and hurling broken masonry across the staircase.
There was a ghoul on the monster’s back, wearing a crown and a preposterous air of nobility. The rider carried a rusted, crooked spear, and it pointed the ridiculous weapon at Gotrek, who was still racing up the steps, not far from the circular platform at the top of the tower.