Gotrek glared at her, but Volant did not hear Maleneth’s words, too intent on justifying his actions to the Slayer.
‘Once the rite is complete,’ he continued, ‘Nagash will take ownership of the Unburied. The Cerement Stone will send every one of them to him. The Lingering Keep will sink beneath the waves like all the other prominents, and every soul will go to the necromancer. Then I will be–’
‘Nagash’s servant,’ said Gotrek, his lip curling in disgust.
‘I serve no one!’ snapped Volant, finally losing his veneer of calm. All around the dais, the Gravesward were clambering to their feet, clutching wounds, but the prince ignored them.
‘For now,’ he said, his voice still taut, ‘Nagash has the upper hand. But let a few centuries pass, and Sigmar will hold sway, or maybe some other god that has yet to emerge from the aether-void. Who knows? What matters is that as the gods rise and fall, the bloodline of the Morn-Princes will endure. With the souls of the Unburied I have bought myself safe passage. I have bought a chance for at least one of the Erebid to escape the Nadir. I will survive, and begin again.’
Lhosia hissed a curse and moved to attack, but her acolytes held her back as Volant raised his scythe, saving her from being cut down.
Gotrek looked thoughtfully at the struggling figures on the dais, considering the prince’s words. ‘If you’re sending these souls to Nagash to buy yourself peace, why would you send me? I’m not after peace. I’m not some willing victim. I came for vengeance.’
Volant shrugged. ‘And I believe you might find it.’ He peered down at Gotrek. ‘Your soul has been altered. You are more than mortal but better than a god.’ He shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you are, but perhaps you will destroy Nagash. Perhaps that is why you were brought to these realms – to end all these schisms and power plays. I’m sending these souls to buy freedom from tyranny, but if you destroy Nagash, there will be no tyranny.’
‘And if I fail to destroy him?’
‘Then I have presented the arch-necromancer with an even greater present than I promised. Your soul would be the jewel in his crown. What matters is that I will be far away, taking my bloodline beyond the reach of arrogant, self-absorbed gods.’
Trachos unclasped his hammers from his belt and tensed, ready to attack, but then paused and looked at Gotrek, as if waiting to see how the Slayer would respond.
Is Gotrek our leader now? wondered Maleneth. Is that what we have come to? The idea appalled her. Do we just follow him whatever he decides to do? She was struggling to understand why, but both she and Trachos seemed to be in Gotrek’s thrall.
Strike him down then! Stick a knife in that fat neck. Try another poison.
Maleneth shook her head. There was such a powerful, momentous feeling in the air that she could not bear the idea of ending this scene before it had been played out. She had to know what would become of the Slayer. And of the Erebid.
‘People have been promising they’ll get me to Nagash since I arrived in this wretched hole,’ snarled Gotrek. ‘So far it’s come to nothing.’
Volant waved Gotrek over to the cloud of moths and pointed to the gem at its centre. ‘Place your hand on the Cerement Stone. I am about to finish the ritual – the stone will send you to Nagashizzar. You will see Nagash today. Have your vengeance, Gotrek, or answers, or whatever it is you seek.’
Gotrek stepped closer, reaching out to touch the stone.
‘Gotrek!’ cried Trachos, finally breaking his silence. ‘This man is a–’
Volant whispered and amethyst light leapt from the stone, blazing around his scythe. ‘This stone is part of me!’ he shouted. ‘I’m bound to it, and it to me.’ He swung the blade, hurling purple flame. ‘Together, we are invincible!’
Trachos staggered, clutching his gorget, bathed in light. He dropped to his knees with a clang, sparks tumbling down his chest. As he struggled, the purple lights grew brighter, eating into his armour, causing him to convulse and kick.
Maleneth shook her head. For a long time she would have gladly watched the Stormcast Eternal die, but not at the hands of this pompous prince. There was nothing she hated more than someone who lied better than she did.
‘Gotrek,’ she said, but before she could get any more words out, Volant lashed out again, hurling more light. Pain knifed into her throat, and she dropped to the floor beside Trachos, unable to breathe.
Gotrek glanced back at her, his expression blank. As she clawed at her throat, feeling the strength drain from her limbs, the Slayer studied Prince Volant. For what seemed like an age, Gotrek looked from Volant to the stone and the people dying on the dais.
‘I have been in these realms for months,’ he said finally. ‘And I had given up hope of finding anyone who thinks like me.’
Maleneth felt a rush of hopelessness as Gotrek placed his hand on Volant’s shoulder. ‘And now, in this lightless pit, I see that I was wrong to despair. Not everyone in these realms is as stupid as I thought.’
Maleneth’s vision grew dark as her oxygen-starved brain lost hold on reality. She pictured scenes from her past, from the Khainite Murder Temples where she had learned to pray through violence, and the halls of the Azyrite scholars, where she had first understood the power of Sigmar’s Stormhosts. The scenes merged and coalesced as her consciousness slipped away.
Gotrek smiled at Prince Volant.
Then he smashed the Cerement Stone with his axe, hurling crimson shards through the air.
Volant roared and reeled across the platform, clutching his face.
Moths whirled around Gotrek’s axe, flashing against the fyresteel.
The walls lit up as the cocoons pulsed back into life.
Maleneth managed to gasp a choking breath as the flames dropped away from her.
With fragments of the Cerement Stone still tinkling across the floor, Gotrek strolled after the howling prince.
‘I thought these realms were blind to the things that really matter,’ he said, ‘but the people of Morbium have proved me wrong. They value tradition. They respect their ancestors. They record every detail of their past. They believe in something. They believe hard enough to fight and to die for it.’
Lhosia, Trachos and the others were still gasping for breath and trying to sit as Gotrek reached Volant and pointed his axe at him. ‘And they deserve better than to be betrayed by their own lord.’ He glanced at Maleneth. ‘I was wrong. Whatever I’ve lost, there are still things worth fighting for. Even here.’
Volant had fallen to his knees, and cracks had spread over his face. He looked like he was about to be sick. ‘I placed all of my power in that stone.’ His voice was a strangled hiss. He glared at Gotrek. ‘You will rue the day you–’
His words were cut off, along with his head, as Lhosia’s scythe slammed through his throat.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Thing of Value
Gotrek stood brooding over Volant’s shattered remains, passion burning in his one good eye. The prince looked like a broken vase, hundreds of pale shards, each showing a jumbled glimpse of his face.
All around the dais, people were climbing to their feet, gasping and coughing and struggling for breath.
Maleneth gave Trachos her hand, and Lhosia’s acolytes rushed to steady the priestess as she staggered away from the prince’s corpse, staring at her bloody scythe.