The noise of battle outside swelled louder. People were screaming and howling.
‘Can you hear that?’ demanded Maleneth. ‘What are we doing in here? We need to get out of Klemp.’
Kurin regained his composure and waved a dismissive hand. ‘We have time. No one passes through that door unless I permit it.’ He looked at Gotrek. ‘There is a way to Nagash. You must travel to Morbium.’
Gotrek shook his head. ‘Morbium?’
‘One of the Amethyst Princedoms. Not all of them fell. Some have remained hidden.’ Kurin reached beneath his robes and drew out a chain of nine polished padlocks, each one engraved with a different rune. They clattered as he held them up and traced his bony fingers over the markings. Then he hung them around the necks of each of the silent men. ‘Morbium,’ he said as he worked, ‘is one of the oldest of the underworlds, ruled by royal scholars known as Morn-Princes. Their knowledge of death magic is as vast as the Great Necromancer’s. When Nagash tried to conquer their realm, the reigning Morn-Prince defied him. Nagash punished him for his temerity, but even as he took his revenge, he fell into the prince’s trap. The Morn-Prince sacrificed himself so that Morbium could survive. A part of Nagash’s power was channelled into a rite the Morn-Prince had spent years preparing. Morbium vanished, and however Nagash tormented the prince, he could never discover the location of the princedom. The Morn-Prince had engineered the rite in such a way that he did not know where he had sent his own people, only that they would escape the predations of the gods.’
Kurin explained all this with an approving tone in his voice. ‘Nagash’s arrogance blinds him to the subtlety of those he tries to subjugate.’
‘Good for Morbium,’ slurred Gotrek. ‘How does that help me?’
‘Things have changed. Nagash’s power has grown. He has utilised a new, more powerful form of death magic. No one knows how, but he is suddenly able to drive back even the most powerful of the Chaos hosts. But it’s not just the Bloodbound and the Rotbringers that have been affected. A plague of undeath has washed through Shyish. Defences that endured for a thousand years have toppled. And Morbium is no different. The wards so cleverly woven by the prince all those years ago are toppling, and the hidden jewel of the princedoms has been exposed. Morbium is one of the first underworlds, one of the oldest, and now it seems set to fall the same way as all the others. At the moment, there is no more than a crack in its wall, but it will widen.’
‘Why does that make it a route to Nagash?’ asked Maleneth.
‘Because the wards that hid Morbium were created with Nagash’s own power. Nagash is blind to it, but Morbium is bound to him. Still part of him. In a tower, in a city, in the heart of Morbium, there are stones that still remember Nagash. I have no idea who the current prince is, but he is linked to Nagash. He has a direct route to the Great Nadir.’
Gotrek grinned, revealing a mess of broken teeth. ‘So if you take me to this Morn-Prince, he can send me to Nagash?’
Kurin looked at the ur-gold rune in Gotrek’s chest. It was flashing in the candlelight, and the same heat was burning in the Slayer’s eye. ‘I think you are fated to reach him.’
The Slayer replied with the complete certainty of the completely drunk. ‘Yes. I am. You’re right.’
Trachos shook his head. ‘We have never met this man before.’
Gotrek laughed. ‘What would you have me do instead, manling? Run back to one of your stormkeeps so you can open my chest and see how this rune works?’ He tapped the head of his axe on Trachos’ breastplate, his eye burning malevolently. ‘I am not one of Sigmar’s playthings.’
Gotrek shrugged. ‘Besides, you saw what’s happening outside. Wherever I go can’t be any worse than this. And if there’s even a chance of getting to grips with one of the gods, I’ll take it.’ He looked back at Kurin. ‘I agree with you, wizard. I was meant to go to this Morbium.’ His habitual scowl was replaced by a confused expression, and he began debating with himself. ‘I’ve no truck with prophecies and soothsayers, but something brought me to this place. I’m here for a reason. I must be.’
Maleneth gave Trachos a despairing look. Every time the Slayer got this drunk, it led to disaster.
Kurin was still staring at Gotrek, obviously intrigued by him. He waved to the silent, motionless figures. ‘If you really want to know why you’re here, my brothers may be able to help.’
Gotrek scowled. ‘I told you. My mind is my own. I’ll not have you rooting around in there.’
‘That’s not all we do, Slayer. Is there anyone from your past who could help you? You say you’re unsure why you were brought back. Back from where? Is there someone from your home who could help? A wandering spirit, perhaps – someone who might have the answer?’
‘Pah!’ Gotrek laughed. ‘Mystic gibberish.’
Kurin smiled, saying nothing.
Gotrek peered into his face. ‘You mean you can summon ghosts from one of these absurd realms?’
Kurin shrugged. ‘Or another. I can summon whichever ghost you like – from whatever realm you choose.’
Gotrek scratched at his stubbly scalp and stomped around the dingy room. ‘Anyone?’
Kurin nodded.
‘Gotrek,’ said Maleneth, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Listen to what’s going on out there. We need to leave. You’re drunk, and he’s a fraud. Why would he want to help you? There must be something he’s not telling us. Look at him. He’s no more than a–’
Gotrek silenced her with a warning finger. ‘He’s spoken more sense in the last ten minutes than you’ve done in three months.’
Gotrek looked back at Kurin. ‘There is a soul. A ghost I would wish to speak to.’ He carried on circling the room, not meeting anyone’s eye, drumming his blocky fingers on his axe. ‘A poet. Felix Jaeger. I owe him an apology. I did not end things as I should have.’
Kurin’s eyes glinted in the darkness. ‘Felix Jaeger.’ He placed his hand on Gotrek’s forearm.
The Slayer moved as if to shrug him off, but something happening to one of the figures in the shadows stopped him. It shuddered, as though waking from a deep sleep.
Gotrek staggered over to it, seeming to forget that Kurin had hold of his arm.
The temperature dropped.
Maleneth glanced around, sensing the presence of something unearthly. She stepped to Gotrek’s side and grimaced as she saw what was happening to the figure. The frail old man still had his eyes closed and still looked to be dead, with a ghastly complexion and no movement in his narrow chest, but something was happening to his skin. Just like on Kurin’s palm in the Muffled Drum, the creases had risen up and begun moving, coiling and twisting in a silent dance.
As the miniature storm whipped across the lifeless figure, it began to blur his features and then transform them. They all watched in surprise as a new face began to appear, scarred and handsome.
‘Is that you?’ whispered Gotrek, staring at the face that was moving beneath the skin, as though trying to break the surface of water. ‘Felix?’
‘Are you really so gullible?’ cried Maleneth. ‘He’s a charlatan! Can’t you see? He’s just showing you what you want to see. This is just a cheap trick designed to–’
‘Can he speak?’ demanded Gotrek, ignoring her.
‘Give him a moment,’ said Kurin. ‘He’s travelled a great distance to be here.’
The younger face finally broke through the surface of the older one. The man stared around the room in confusion, until his eyes came to rest on the Slayer.
‘Gotrek!’ His voice sounded muffled, like it was coming through a thick wall. ‘Is that really you?’ As it spoke, the figure lurched into life, reaching out and stumbling forwards, like the ghouls they had fought outside.