‘She’s human,’ I barked, my voice hoarse from shouting. ‘And a ward of the Bear-Eater.’
‘I am most certainly not,’ she hissed.
‘Ignore her!’
‘Breach!’
The shield wall parted down the middle. The Liberators to my right took a step to the right, while those to the left went left. I ushered Nassam through and glared pointedly at Brychen until the priestess lowered her spear and stalked after him. I turned, backing up as the Arcway disgorged a fresh wave of beastmen and skaven, the occasional volley of gunfire cracking off the walls, the ceiling or a Sigmarite Shield. The shield wall crashed back together behind me, and I left the Imperishables to do what the Imperishables were renowned for doing.
Standing still.
‘You must have some nerve, Hamilcar.’ A Judicator-Prime walked towards me, identified by an ornate headdress that resembled a pair of golden serpents spilling down the sides of his helmet.
‘I do, brother. And then some. But don’t toast my victory just yet, for we have seen what lies on the other side of the portal and the warlock is holding his best until last.’
‘Toast your victory?’ The masked warrior sounded incredulous.
‘I said “don’t”.’
‘If not for you then we would have had Freeguild to call upon. Instead they are fortified in their barracks, or they were the last time we received a runner from the Seven Words.’
Brychen looked at me. ‘What did you do?’
I ignored her. ‘Is the Seven Words under attack too?’
‘Not that I have heard, but that means little now.’ The Judicator-Prime glared passingly over Brychen and Nassam, somehow finding something to disapprove of in the immaculately turned-out Jerech soldier, before looking me up and down. ‘My name is Kuphus, and you should know that Lord-Castellant Ironheel has issued commandments for your capture.’
Nassam moved in front of me. ‘Over my stilled heart.’ His scowl eased, and he dipped his head to the towering Judicator-Prime. ‘Lord.’
‘On the order of the God-King,’ Kuphus added.
‘It’s alright, Nassam,’ I said. ‘I wanted to find Akturus anyway.’
‘You did?’ asked Kuphus.
I shrugged.
Kuphus looked uncertain. ‘Well… the Lord-Castellant stands guard over the Seventh Gate. A large force of skaven and their foul allies broached the catacombs before my brotherhood were able to locate the entry portal and block the passages.’
I sympathised.
The catacombs had always been the Seven Words’ weak point. Or should I say weakest point? Had it not been for the Azyr Gate, and the archaeological mystery of their construction and continued expansion, then the whole network of passages would have been collapsed years ago. The Imperishables had been tasked wholly to their defence. That they had outnumbered my Bear-Eaters by eight to one tells you all you need to know about the catacombs’ vulnerability, and their importance to the God-King.
But only one of us got to sit in a throne.
‘The Lord-Castellant despatched conclaves to guard the main exits to the fortress,’ Kuphus went on. ‘But he remained in person to hold the Gate.’
That made sense.
Hold the Seventh Gate and you hold the hope of reinforcement from Azyr. Lose it, and the Paladins of Sigmaron would have absolutely no hesitation in slamming that gate shut and throwing away the proverbial key before risking any grand scale incursion into Azyrheim. It sounds too harsh to be believable, but believe me I have seen whole nations, hundreds of thousands of souls, forsaken for less. Much as Sigmar himself had once been driven to abandon the entirety of the Mortal Realms. Without the Realmgate, the Seven Words wouldn’t stand for a month – even without a skaven horde at the gates. It simply couldn’t feed and provision itself.
It was obvious that a zero-sum tactician like Akturus would hold it in person.
And if someone like me could deduce that, then so could Ikrit.
Bringing the warlock to battle before the portal to the Eternal City had a pleasing practicality to it. It would save me the bother of having to drag him too far. I smiled, distantly, imagining the approving roar of the free folk of Azyrheim as I paraded the captive warlock through the Sigmarabulum on our way to the Celestial Stair.
‘Bear-Eater,’ Brychen snapped.
‘I’m just getting my breath back,’ I said, irritably.
‘Hmmmm.’
‘I will send a warrior to escort you,’ said Kuphus.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I protested. But not too hard. I don’t know what I would have done had the Judicator-Prime rescinded his demand.
‘I insist,’ said Kuphus, firmly.
Chapter twenty-eight
I had no idea of the way to the Seventh Gate, of course, but as Kuphus had obligingly insisted on an escort I was only too happy to defer to Aphis’ guidance. The Judicator walked with his crossbow leading. A heavy weapon of black sigmarite, golden serpents coiled up the faux wooden finish and a bolt fizzled in the track, lighting the passage ahead of us as well as any torch. Moisture and metallic mineral crystals glittered from the walls. After about half an hour of determined walking, I opened my mouth to strike up a conversation, only for the Judicator to whisk up a hand for quiet. Taking the fizzling crossbow one-handed, he pressed back against the wall. Nassam did the same, Brychen virtually sinking into the rock.
I planted my halberd in the middle of the corridor and set my hand on my hip.
‘What is it?’ I said, making no particular effort to be quiet. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
‘That is what troubles me,’ Aphis whispered. ‘The Seventh Gate is supposed to be under attack.’ The Judicator nodded down the passage. The light thinned out there, the walls struggling to hold their crystalline shine. ‘The gate chamber is just around this corner.’
I frowned into the gloom.
Akturus was the nastiest fighter I’ve ever known. Even for a warrior as exceptional as I, watching the Ironheel fight was an education in weak spots, pressure points and the darker arts of comparative anatomies.
‘It could be that the assault on the Realmgate has already been broken.’
It didn’t seem very likely, even to me.
I knew what Akturus was up against, and I doubted even Akturus’ near-supernatural ability to hit below the belt would avail him against the master warlock.
‘We should send back to Kuphus for reinforcement,’ Aphis murmured.
‘And tell him what?’ I said. ‘That there isn’t any fighting?’
‘I…’ The Judicator struggled over his answer to that.
‘Come on.’
I started down the tunnel. Brychen detached from the wall to flow after me, Nassam affording the Judicator an apologetic shrug before following. After a few seconds, the sputtering bob of Kuphus’ light followed, so either his crossbow was coming after us or the Judicator had taken up the rear.
Rounding the corner that Aphis had warned of, I ducked under the lintel of a duardin-cut archway and into the gate chamber.
The crackling glow of the Judicator’s boltstorm bolt expanded to fill the space, pushing into the thick shadows. Stout buttressing columns loomed out of the blackness. The capitals shone grimly, ancestor faces carved in the duardin style, the peeling remnant of lead and tin and golden paints clinging to the effigies like hair on mummified skin. The Seventh Gate glowered over the ancient glory, a thunderstorm within a ring of stone. It could have been my eyes adapting to the darkness, but the light from Aphis’ crossbow noticeably waxed in the deluge from Azyr.