Maleneth nodded. ‘So if we tell you why we’re seeking the necromancer, you’ll relieve Gotrek of his guilt?’
‘If that’s what he desires.’
The Slayer was still staring at Kurin’s hand, but Maleneth sensed that his mind had slipped back into the past again. His usually fierce expression was gone, and robbed of its normal ferocity, his face looked brutalised rather than brutal – a shocking mess of scars and buckled bone.
‘Do you?’ prompted Kurin, an odd gleam in his eye.
Gotrek was staring so hard Maleneth wondered if the drink had finally made him catatonic. Then he laughed and leant back, relaxing as he took another swig. ‘These realms are so damned subtle. I see what you’re doing, sorcerer – you would rob me of my past and leave me beaming like an idiot. You would have me forget my oath.’
Kurin frowned, confused, shaking his head, but before he could disagree, Gotrek continued.
‘There’s no solace for me, wizard. No absolution. No bloody shriving. Not until I find my doom.’ As the Slayer’s anger grew, his words became more slurred. ‘And, one way or another, the gods will give it to me.’
‘Gotrek,’ said Trachos. ‘We have no idea why he wants to know your business.’
Maleneth looked up in surprise. The Stormcast Eternal hardly ever spoke, and when he did, it rarely made sense.
Gotrek laughed and leant close to Kurin, waving dismissively at Trachos. ‘My friend here isn’t digging with a full shovel. He thinks I need to worry about you. If he knew half the things I’ve slain, he’d know I don’t need to worry about someone with brains for dust.’ He shook his head. ‘I mean dust for brains. You’re muddling my thinking, damn you. Keep out of my head. The past is the one place I’m still happy to go. I’ll thank you not to ruin it.’
Kurin nodded politely. ‘Of course. I hope I have not offended you.’
Gotrek stared at the table and shook his head. ‘Mind you, you’ve actually spoken the first sense I’ve heard since arriving in these realms. Gods are idiots. Worshipping gods is the pastime of idiots. You’re right.’ He waved clumsily at Maleneth and Trachos. ‘This pair think they can earn a place at the head of some glorious, divine host if they make a prize of me.’ He laughed. ‘Look at them, dreaming of being holy footstools.’
Kurin smiled sadly. ‘The curse of the devout. Praying so cheerfully to the cause of their pain.’
‘Aye to that.’ Gotrek’s tone was grim as he clanked his bottle against the old man’s drink. ‘The gods are good for nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Apart from catching my axe.’
Maleneth shook her head, not keen on how the old man was hanging on Gotrek’s every drunken word. ‘Trachos is right,’ she said. ‘We should keep our business to ourselves.’
‘Our business?’ cried Gotrek. He scrambled up onto the table and bellowed at the room. ‘It’s my bloody business, and I’ll share it with who I like!’
The buzz of conversation died away as everyone saw the crazed, oversized Slayer swaying on the table.
Maleneth put her head in her hands.
‘I’ve come here for Nagash!’ shouted Gotrek, brandishing his axe. ‘You cowardly whelps can run and hide all you like, but I’m going to find him and bury this useless blade in his useless skull.’ He slammed the axe down and it split the table in half, hurling drinks and leaving Gotrek sprawled on the floor.
There was an explosion of yells and curses as people leapt to their feet, grabbing weapons and hurling abuse at Gotrek, outraged by his accusation of cowardice.
A glowering mob formed around the Slayer as he climbed to his feet and retrieved his weapon.
Maleneth drew her knives and leapt to his side, still cursing under her breath. Trachos grabbed his hammers from his belt and stood at Gotrek’s other side. The trio made an unusual, impressive sight, and the drunks hesitated.
The duardin that had been watching Gotrek since he arrived rushed to stand with him, and Gotrek glared at them furiously.
‘Don’t come near me, you pathetic excuse for a dwarf,’ he snarled, rounding on the nearest of them.
There was a chorus of gasps as the mob staggered away from Gotrek, clutching their throats and choking. The veins beneath their skin suddenly knotted together and began writhing like serpents. Some of the men dropped to their knees, murmuring and whimpering as they tried to breathe, while others stumbled towards the door.
‘Wait!’ cried Kurin, wiping pieces of table from his robes as he stood and crossed the room. He was holding up one of his hands with a beneficent smile. The creases of his palm had risen up in a miniature tornado again, whirling and twisting between his fingers. ‘Lower your weapons, my friends. There is no need for discord. I’ll pay for any spillages.’
He closed his fist, and breath exploded from dozens of lungs as people managed to breathe again.
There were more disgruntled cries, but no one attacked. They looked at Kurin even more warily than they did Gotrek. As they crawled back to their seats, muttering and wheezing, it occurred to Maleneth that until Gotrek had sat beside him, Kurin had been completely alone at the bench. No one had dared sit near him.
‘You robbed me of a fight, wizard.’ Gotrek hefted his axe a little higher and gave Kurin a warning look. ‘And there’s precious little else to do in–’
‘I can reach Nagash,’ Kurin said, smiling.
Gotrek froze.
Kurin’s presence unnerved even the most hardened warriors in the room. As he walked slowly towards Gotrek, they backed away into the darkest corners of the inn. Maleneth had seen the same thing countless times. Few mortals were happy to risk the ire of a sorcerer.
Kurin nodded towards the street outside. ‘We can talk in my rooms.’ He carefully placed some coins on the bar and went to the door, waving for Gotrek to follow him.
The Slayer eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged and headed out into the gloom, Maleneth and Trachos rushing after him.
Chapter Two
The Bone Rain
The sorcerer paused halfway across the street, staring at something. The mammoth was gone, but there were still crowds of people dashing back and forth and loading carts. Several had done the same as Kurin, halting to look back down the road in the direction of the town gates.
‘God of Murder,’ said Maleneth. ‘What now?’
‘Another gift from the gods,’ said Kurin, calm despite the abomination that was spreading across the sky.
Beyond the gates the clouds were changing – swelling and trembling and forming mountainous black thunderheads. They were clearly not normal storm clouds. They were boiling out of an empty grey sky, like smoke pluming from a wound.
As more people noticed what was happening, the crowds became even more panicked. People screamed and abandoned the luggage they were trying to lug into carts. The wind grew in ferocity and bone cages broke free from the doorways, clattering down the street, scattering fingers and feathers as they whirled through the dust.
Maleneth coughed and gagged as dust filled her nostrils. There was an awful smell on the air – the heavy, thick stink of death. It was coming from the cloud forming on the horizon.
Drinkers spilled out of the Muffled Drum, pallid and swearing as they looked up at the approaching storm.