There was a pair of torches on the floor, but they seemed to have been abandoned, extinguished. The tiles where they lay were scorched black.
‘Where is everyone?’ Aphis murmured.
My thoughts exactly.
‘Look at this.’ Brychen pointed to a black mark on the ceiling, immediately above one of the dropped torches.
‘A battle was fought here,’ I said.
‘Here?’ said Nassam.
‘We lost,’ I said.
I pointed to the scorch mark on the ceiling.
If you have ever wondered how a lightning bolt carrying the soul of a Stormcast Eternal is able to pass through solid rock on its way to the celestine vaults then know that you are not alone – I am happy enough just knowing that it does.
‘Akturus was here with a Thunderhead Brotherhood of over fifty Imperishables,’ Aphis hissed. He swept the surrounding columns with his uncertain light. ‘What in this realm or any other could account for such a force without leaving even one survivor, or evidence of their own dead?’
‘Ikrit,’ I muttered.
The warlock’s power had been colossal, and that had simply been my impression from being in his presence. The thought of him in unleashed battle was terrifying, I will admit. A gnawing sensation took up in my gut. The feeling was such an unfamiliar one that I initially dismissed it as a hunger pang. It had been a full day, and no little excitement, since my last meal with Aeygar and Barbarus and the rest of the Blue Skies. It was only after it spent the next few moments knotting itself into my bowels that I began to recognise it. Fear. The novelty of the sensation made it almost pleasurable. Like the ache in your muscles after a hard-won battle. What would be more glorious, more affirming, than achieving a feat that even I wasn’t convinced I could do? Through my triumph would Sigmar again be ascendant. With custody of the warlock, Nagash and Malerion and every other wayward power in the Pantheon would return as petitioners to the God-King’s court, and it would be me, Knight-Questor Hamilcar Bear-Eater, that would have brought them there.
‘Lord, over here,’ said Nassam, interrupting my daydream.
A flight of mineral-encrusted granite steps wound up to the Seventh Gate, turning a half circle so that the portal’s thunderous glare was directed towards the chamber’s wall rather than the entrance. The Jerech was crouched down by the bottom step. The shadows there were unnaturally deep, beneath the turned face of Azyr. Aphis swung his crossbow light towards it, excavating something metallic and black from the darkness. The golden fang of an asp glittered.
‘Akturus!’ Aphis cried.
‘He’s alive,’ said Nassam.
‘He would be,’ I said. ‘Ikrit wanted the lantern.’ I swore. ‘We’re too late.’
‘Then we should kill him now,’ said Brychen. ‘Before the warlock can use his light.’
‘I will murder you before you can even make the attempt,’ said Aphis, rounding on the priestess and bringing up his crossbow.
Brychen’s eyes narrowed to pinpricks in the light beam. ‘I gave the Bear-Eater the same mercy.’
‘She did,’ I grunted.
I didn’t exactly enjoy talking about it.
‘The lantern’s still here,’ said Nassam.
‘Wait, what?’ I said.
The Jerech looked up, pulling on the black sigmarite lantern that was, indeed, still hooked to Akturus Ironheel’s belt.
‘What in Sigendil’s light is going on here? Why would Ikrit leave it behind?’
‘Maybe you frightened him off, lord,’ Nassam suggested.
I looked at him, incredulous. ‘Really?’
The Jerech, however, seemed entirely straight-faced.
I appreciated the vote of confidence.
‘Or perhaps Akturus Ironheel injured the warlock,’ said Aphis. ‘Enough to drive him from the fight. He could have lost consciousness some time afterwards.’
‘Step away from him, Nassam,’ Brychen said, staring up into the ceiling vaults with inhumanly dark eyes. ‘Something smells rancid here.’
A titter of quiet laughter echoed back from the stone ceiling.
Aphis’ crossbow jerked up.
‘Your instincts are good-good, tree-thing. You make dangerous prey.’ I felt a wind brush through my hair, and when the voice returned, it was from behind me. Aphis’ crossbow lurched back around. ‘But not so good that she cannot sense-smell a trap before her foot is inside it.’
Brychen glanced my way and arched an eyebrow as if to mime, ‘Again?’
I scowled. ‘Malikcek.’
‘Did you think-think you had smelled the last of me?’ There was another titter and a breath of movement, the sense of something flowing from wall to wall. ‘No-no. Our game has been too enjoyable by far.’
‘This is no game,’ Brychen hissed.
There was a slow creak, as of timbers settling after a hard storm, and the priestess’ entire upper body began to glow. Amber light streamed through the latticework of her armour, and Malikcek slunk into the leafy shadows cast by her trappings with a snicker.
‘Games, yes-yes. There can be no winning for me. No losing. What is left then but how I play-play the game?’
‘He’s mad,’ Nassam murmured.
I agreed, but didn’t answer.
The assassin’s sanity was no doubt in a secure box somewhere in Ulgu.
‘Ikrit thought he could trap-hold you in his lair, Bear-Eater. Cut you open at his leisure. But I knew better. You are too good. Like me. Dead and returned. You live for the game.’
‘I have heard enough,’ said Aphis. I could see the dark eyes behind his mask roving in search of a target. As one of Sigmar’s Justicars, his senses would have been as sharp as mine, if not sharper. He saw nothing. ‘What happened to Akturus’ Thunderhead Brotherhood?’
The darkness chittered in mockery.
‘Squeak-ask instead what happened to my warriors? Or do you think so high of me, that I could overcome so lots-many of Sigmar’s finest without help?’
A swirl of movement deformed the brilliance of the Seventh Gate.
At first I thought it was something coming through, a figure clad in the black of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer, but the figure was too small, hunched over, more malicious than any Stormcast Eternal by far.
‘A thousand of Ikrit’s most expendable vermin I sent-hurried through the portal-gate to Azyr-place. The minions of the Man-God will kill-slay them very soon.’ Malikcek cackled. ‘And when it is finished-done, what then?’
‘They’ll seal the Realmgate,’ I breathed, aghast.
‘Vermin,’ Aphis spat, then pointed his crossbow and fired.
Malikcek parted before the crackling quarrel like fog before a bolt of lightning.
His laughter, when it came again, echoed from every darkened corner at once. Every vault and column. Every lingering shadow. Every graven image joined him in his mirth.
‘Go, Aphis,’ I said, the Judicator stubbornly reloading. ‘Through the Realmgate to Azyr. Whatever happens, you can’t allow the wardens of Azyrheim to close the Seventh Gate.’
‘You cannot expect me to leave my Lord-Castellant here with you.’
‘Akturus would give the same order were he conscious, and you know it. I think you know that I can’t go. And Kuphus would have shot Brychen first and asked questions later, so what do you think the Paladins of Azyr will do?’
‘What about him?’ said Aphis.
Nassam looked up.
‘A mortal?’ I said. ‘With a thousand skaven warriors between him and the Stormcast Eternals?’
Aphis scowled in indecision.
‘Tick-tock. Tick-tock.’ The edges of the chamber cackled mercilessly. ‘How long will a thousand clanrats last against a fortress filled with Sigmar’s best-best, I wonder?’
‘I am going,’ the Judicator shouted back, shouldering his crossbow. ‘I am going.’