‘This way,’ called Kurin, waving in the opposite direction to the clouds, at a building back down the street.
Gotrek ignored him, planting his feet firmly apart and staring at the storm.
‘Gotrek!’ cried Maleneth. ‘Whatever that is–’ Her words were cut off as the inn’s sign tore free and flew through the air, almost hitting her. She leapt aside and shielded her eyes as it smashed on the road, hurling shards of wood.
Gotrek was still leaning into the wind, grinning and testing the weight of his axe.
‘Don’t die here,’ called Kurin, ‘in this tiresome little town. Don’t waste your energy on a place that’s already been forgotten. I can show you how to reach Nagash.’
Gotrek looked back at him as the pieces of a broken shrine bounced off him – shards of bone and wire knotted with hair. He frowned. ‘Tell me again why you would want to help me?’
‘I see something in you, duardin. I have a feeling that–’ Kurin tried to say more, but the storm was making it hard to breathe. Whatever the sorcerer was made of, his body was not bound by the same physics as anyone else’s. He began to fragment and dissipate, buffeted violently by the reeking storm. For a moment, he seemed to collapse completely, snatched away by the wind, but then he reformed, his regal features tumbling back into place. ‘We don’t have long!’ His voice reverberated down the street, laden with unnatural power.
Maleneth’s legs carried her after him, moving of their own volition. She cursed as she realised the man had bewitched her.
Trachos was at Gotrek’s side, hammers raised, weighted down by his hulking sigmarite armour as everyone else was being blown back down the street. The storm was now so violent that several carts were lying overturned in the whirling dust and doors were being ripped from their hinges and hurled through the air.
Gotrek was still looking at Kurin, who was flickering in and out of view, merging with the dust clouds. Then he shrugged and began walking towards the sorcerer, with Trachos staggering after him.
A porch near Maleneth broke free, and one of the beams thudded painfully into her calves. She fell and tumbled down the street, gasping and choking as she bounced over the hard ground. She slammed against the side of a wood store and managed to grab hold.
Fool, said her mistress. You missed your chance. I said you would.
Maleneth snarled, wanting to disagree, but she could barely see Gotrek now. He was just a vague, stocky silhouette in the dust, with Trachos looming over him, massive and unshakeable.
‘Gotrek!’ she cried, but at that moment, the cloud burst, splitting down the middle with a deafening boom and spewing rain on the road to Klemp.
No, it wasn’t rain; it looked more like hail – hard, white shards that gleamed as they fell and kicked up dust as they hit the ground.
The hail rushed towards the town, and the few people still on the street dived for cover, leaping through doorways and slamming shutters.
Maleneth could see no sign of Gotrek or Trachos.
‘No!’ She hauled herself from the wood store and dived through a broken window into the house next to it. ‘I won’t lose that blessed rune! Not after all this!’
There was a man cowering in the room, hunkered down behind an overturned table. She glared at him as she crawled towards an opening where the wall had collapsed. As the wind sliced into her again, she saw that the hail had now reached the town and was tearing up the street like knives, drumming loudly across the packed earth and rushing towards her in a flashing wave.
The man gasped, staring at the hail as though it were a host of daemons.
His fear was infectious. Maleneth backed away from the opening and dropped down next to him.
‘What is it?’ she cried, struggling to be heard over the din.
He shook his head, not looking at her, still staring at the hail.
She pressed a blade to his throat. ‘What is it?’ she repeated with more vehemence.
He still kept looking at the storm, but this time he did at least answer. ‘Bone rain!’ He sounded demented. ‘The death storm! Nagash’s storm!’
‘What do you mean?’ she shouted, pressing the blade harder until blood formed at his throat.
‘It means the mordants are coming!’ He was about to say more when his face turned a worrying shade of purple and he fell back against the wall.
Maleneth was confused for a moment, then cursed as she remembered lacing her knife with venom when she had been about to fight Trachos.
‘Idiot!’ she whispered, glaring at the discoloured corpse.
She let him drop to the ground then ran through a doorway into the next room, still looking for the Slayer.
There was no sign of him, just more locals, cowering fearfully under a table as the storm lashed against the walls, sounding like waves breaking against a promontory.
Maleneth cursed when she saw there was nowhere left to go. She walked over to the barred door, but the family crouched under the table immediately began screaming.
‘It’s just hail,’ she said, glaring at them, but she did not feel as confident as she sounded.
‘It’s bone rain!’ gasped one of them, shaking his head furiously. ‘It’ll tear you apart!’
Maleneth frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
The man would say no more, wrapping his arms around his head and leaning against his family.
Maleneth hissed a curse and looked back at the door. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she whispered, but she did not go any further.
She began pacing around the room, flipping her knives from hand to hand, glowering at the people under the table and wondering where Trachos and Gotrek would be by now.
They will have gone with the sorcerer. Gotrek will be glad to see the back of you.
Not true, she thought. The Slayer enjoys tormenting me. And he definitely has no love for Trachos.
After ten minutes or so, the sound of the storm started to lessen.
‘It’s passing us by,’ she whispered, itching to open the door.
The man under the table looked up at her, hope in his eyes. ‘Wait,’ he said, holding up a warning hand. ‘Be sure.’
Maleneth wanted to hurl a knife into his pathetic face, but she held off from opening the door until the noise had completely died away. Then she carefully opened it a crack and peered out into the gloom.
The rain had gone, but the storm had left the street cluttered with all sorts of debris. Whole sections of houses had collapsed, leaving rooms exposed and scattering furniture through the dust.
There were people sprawled in the rubble, bleeding and crying out in pain, lacerated so badly they looked like they had survived a knife fight. There were pieces of hail everywhere, creating a brittle carpet that crunched under Maleneth’s boots as she walked out into the street. She stopped to look closer and saw that rather than being cold and glistening, they were dry, dusty shards.
Kurin, Gotrek and Trachos had emerged from the house opposite, and the sorcerer waved at the people lying bleeding in the dust. ‘This is just the prelude.’
She shook her head, but then saw what Kurin meant. There were figures emerging from the storm, staggering through the dust clouds.
Maleneth laughed in disbelief as the first of them stumbled into view. It was as though the man were acting out a ridiculous performance. He was standing in an awkward, hunched posture, and his face was twisted in a deranged leer. Only his eyes robbed the scene of humour – they were staring and blank.
He hobbled towards Kurin, breathing heavily and flexing his bony hands. He was dressed in tattered scraps of armour and he moved like his body had been broken and only crudely repaired. He lurched and stumbled as though struggling to stand, but as he crossed the street he gained momentum, rushing through fence posts and charging.