Once that was done, and only then, would he lift his eyes to me and allow for whatever war or pestilence or death I had come to report.
I closed my eyes in prayer.
A thousand times and one.
With smiling eyes, Akturus reached up to undo the clasps at the back of his Mask Impassive. It came away in his hands. A high gorget of smooth black sigmarite and some gold banding kept the rear of his head enclosed. His skin was dark brown, freckled with motes of flickering cerulean that had appeared as a manifestation of his second reforging. The smile, as I had already known, did not reach far beyond his eyes.
He may as well have kept his mask on.
Setting the golden plate in his lap he delicately picked up the goblet, closing his eyes as he inhaled the spiced vapours.
‘It is from Shyish,’ he murmured in answer, his voice like a gentle wind through a door just opened. ‘The vineyards of the Blacksun Cape produce some of the finest varieties of grape in the Mortal Realms.’ He raised the goblet in a ritual toast to ancient gods and drank, leaving his lips stained black. ‘One of few tangible benefits to Sigmar’s truce with the Undying King.’ Holding the goblet in both hands, the way I might brandish the skull of an enemy or a trophy cut from a foe in battle, the Lord-Castellant offered it to me.
‘The finest grapes in Shyish would be wasted on me,’ I said.
‘The Cape has converted more with its gifts than any god still living.’
‘I’m a trueborn son of Azyr, my friend.’ Setting my gauntlet fingers against the goblet, I pushed it gently back towards Akturus. The Ironheel produced a stiff grimace of an expression as our fingers touched. With Akturus this could mean either great amusement or deep outrage, but I suspected the latter. It was the only condition under which I had aroused any expression in him before now. ‘I have butchered my palette with raw meat and too much ale.’
Implacable once again, Akturus returned the goblet to its proper place.
‘It is good to see you again, Hamilcar.’
Now, it’s fair to say I couldn’t have been more surprised had he swept up his goblet to throw the dregs in my face.
Akturus and I had spoken, at best, a dozen times during the siege of the Seven Words and the preceding campaigns against the beasts of the Gorwood. Half of those had been me insulting him for tinkering with siege engines and making prayers to Sigmar while my Bear-Eaters had just gone on ahead and assaulted the walls. For the Imperishables, battle was a thing of lines and formulas, something to be won through precision and patience rather than a hero’s valour. During the years of consolidation and re-building that had followed that conquest, he had become as irritating and wearingly soul-sapping as a pebble in my boot. All that being true, however, if you could pick one warrior to bury in a dark, hard to reach place to make damn sure nothing murders you in your sleep, then I can guarantee you that it would be Akturus Ironheel.
‘I heard that it was you that tried to go after me,’ I said.
Akturus nodded.
‘The Jerech, I could understand. But you….’
‘We made a good pairing here, for all of our…’ He hesitated, the shape of his mouth trialling various choices, ‘differences. But Frankos is…’
‘Frankos,’ I concluded.
Again, Akturus nodded. ‘Yes. He is a good warrior. A fair leader. The Freeguild like him, but they do not respect him as they did you. He tries too hard to be you, and he looks to me for authority even though he is Lord-Celestant now, and commands a host larger than I.’ It was unlike Akturus to resort to physical gestures, so when he raised his hands to indicate his surroundings I read plenty into the Seven Words’ current situation. ‘That is why I find myself here, enthroned in your old seat, and not him.’
‘I like what you’ve done with it.’
‘The people sense it,’ Akturus went on, ignoring me. ‘Freeguild and citizens alike. He does not inspire faith. Not even with ten times the warriors that followed you.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘You have been here a day. Half a day even. Yet morale is already higher than it has been since the news of your capture in battle. How do you do it, brother? I ask you honestly.’
‘Honestly? I think it’s equal parts being good and being liked. You are good, brother, though Sigmar help you if that leaves this room. Perhaps you could give being liked a try?’
‘I am reminded of something that Lorrus Grymn used to say of his partnership with the Steel Soul. What was it?’
I put my face in my hands and groaned through the gauntlet fingers.
‘That one was the sword and one the shield.’
‘You disapprove?’ said Akturus.
Without peeling my hands from my face, I nodded. ‘All the time. All the time.’
‘Well, I have always felt that you are the carrot, brother, and I am the stick.’
For the first time in my life, I found myself laughing at something that Akturus Ironheel had said. ‘I think I like that.’ I straightened up, then sighed. ‘But you should know. Sigmar didn’t send me here to re-join my old Stormhost.’
And thank the heavens for that. The idea of having to take actual orders from an actual Lord-Celestant made me feel unwell.
I spread myself, pivoting side to side so as to better show off my new armour.
‘I noticed,’ said Akturus.
‘Sigmar has named me Knight-Questor. I am above such authority now, beholden only to the geas he has placed upon me to find the skaven’s leader and show him the God-King’s justice.’
The Ironheel remained impassive.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘When you first arrived in the Gorkomon, I had already been campaigning against the Untamed for several months. Do you remember what you said?’
‘I… don’t.’ I shook my fist towards the twinkling light of Sigendil, visible through the windows, even by day and in this foreign realm. ‘The things we must surrender unto the Anvil of Apotheosis.’
‘You told me that you came with the authority of Sigmar, that I was to disregard the fact that I commanded four hundred souls to your fifty and cede complete authority to you.’
I shrugged apologetically. ‘The memory is all gone, brother.’
‘It was only after the conquest when Vikaeus and the Knights Merciless joined us that I learned he meant for us to share joint command.’
‘Sigmar knows the strengths and weaknesses of men,’ I said, sagely. ‘He would have known that I would try to trick you, and that you would fall for it.’ I frowned suddenly, unsure how much I was pretending to be remembering. ‘Probably.’
‘Must I mention the Stardrake that you claimed to have left in Azyr because it was too big to pass through the Realmgate?’
I barked with laughter.
I’d forgotten that one.
‘My new position suits me, I won’t deny. Not that I didn’t have my doubts at first. Hamilcar? The Bear-Eater? Me? Fighting his battles alone with none to carry the tale of them? But to walk my own path, my way? Yes, I think I could get used to that. But this is no Celestial Drake, brother. This armour I wear now is a gift from Sigmar himself.’
‘As is mine,’ said Akturus, mildly.