Helios continued, pressing with words as well as his blade. ‘He has ever been brittle in his manner, but of late, he has become harsh as well. It is as if he has judged us, and found us wanting, in some manner.’
Miska laughed. ‘You say that as if it’s an impossibility.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Helios stepped back, arms spread, inviting attack. ‘Am I not incomparable in my prowess? Are my brothers and sisters not exceptional?’
Miska lunged. The head of her staff crackled with energy as it darted towards him. He twisted, batting it aside at the last moment. He stumbled slightly, but she recognised the ploy for what it was and held back. He straightened a moment later, grinning ruefully. She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. ‘You are more observant than most, sister.’
She sighed and stepped back, signalling the end of the bout. ‘Yes. And I have noticed what you speak of as well, brother. Balthas finds fault in his own actions, and his anger at himself has spilled over. He means no offence.’
‘Nor have I taken any. None of us have. He is our lord-arcanum, however prickly he might be. I do not doubt his courage or his skill, having witnessed both. But someone must speak with him, and soon. An absent leader is no leader at all.’
Miska frowned. At any other time, such words would have earned Helios a rebuke. Then, at any other time, he would not have felt free to say them. Balthas had always been remote, from his peers as well as his subordinates. But his isolation of late was beyond the norm, even for him. She shook her head. ‘Do the others feel the same?’ she asked quietly.
Helios hesitated. Miska gestured impatiently. ‘It is a simple question, brother. Answer me honestly, please.’
‘I have spoken to the others, yes. Mara and Quintus both agree. Porthas keeps his own council, as always,’ he said, naming the most senior officers of the chamber. ‘The others are of mixed opinion on the matter.’
‘You have been diligent,’ she said, not without some disapproval.
Helios accepted her chastisement without comment. He merely nodded and planted his sword point-first in the ground before him, his hands resting on the crosspiece. Miska ran a hand through her hair and tugged on her braid idly, considering the problem before her.
For as long as she had served under him, Balthas had delegated much of his responsibility. She was the intercessor between him and those he commanded. Many lords-arcanum encouraged a more informal relationship with those they led into battle – Knossus Heavensen participated in training bouts with his own Sequitors, while others, like Tyros Firemane, led their warriors in the rites of preparation and purification.
But Balthas did none of those things. Saw no reason to do those things, in fact. He was lord-arcanum and took the title at face value. Not for him was the easy camaraderie of the battlefield. He was above it all, and removed from it, save in gravest necessity.
Miska felt a twinge of guilt. In some small way, she had encouraged this behaviour. It was often simpler to work around Balthas, rather than include him. In battle, he had few equals. Off the field, however, he bristled at what he perceived as tedium, and often became obstinate when things did not align perfectly to his assumptions.
‘His failure to contain the lightning-gheist gnaws at him,’ she said slowly. ‘He cannot conceive of failing at a task he has accomplished a hundred times before. He will not be satisfied until he is given the chance to make amends.’
Helios nodded. ‘Then perhaps we must add our voices to his, and ask Sigmar to let us slip our chains. The others go to war – why not us?’ He looked around, and the other Celestors nodded in agreement.
Miska gestured for silence. ‘Quiet. We have a guest.’
Helios turned, startled. So too did the other Celestors. An aelf, impossibly pale and inhumanly thin, stood among them, clad in robes of soft indigo and radiant white. The aelf’s narrow features were tattooed with celestial designs, and her dark hair was bound back with a clasp of silver. She had come among them, her tread as silent as moonlight, and none of the burnished giants who surrounded her had noticed.
Miska bowed, and the aelf returned the gesture. ‘My apologies if we have disturbed your efforts, my lady,’ the mage-sacristan said.
‘It would take more than you to do that,’ the aelf said, with a swift smile. She reached out and touched the trunk of a silvery tree. ‘Indeed, the trees enjoy your presence. You are vibrant with starlight, and they drink it in. The grasses too grow thick beneath your feet. Stay as long as you wish.’
‘Our thanks, my lady,’ Helios said, taking the aelf’s hand and bowing low, as if to kiss it. ‘Such words are welcome to my ears.’ It was a courtly gesture, from another age, and one Miska had not expected of Helios. The aelf inclined her head solemnly, as if in acknowledgement, and pointed to the sky.
‘I did not come merely to compliment you. There is a message from the God-King.’
Miska looked up. Above, a star-eagle circled the garden. It cried out with serene savagery and swooped towards Miska, trailing sparks of light in its wake. The birds normally dwelled in the aetheric clouds high above Mallus, hunting the strange things that drifted there. But some came occasionally to Sigmaron, impelled by some instinct to serve as the eyes and ears of the God-King.
Miska lifted her hand, and the eagle landed on her forearm. It had almost no weight, though she knew it was strong enough to tear through anything save sigmarite. It screeched, flapping its great wings, and she heard a word – just one – echo in her head, like the distant thunder of a summer storm.
Then, with another flap of its wings, the bird launched itself upwards once more. Miska watched it go and felt a pang of longing that she could not explain.
‘Well? What message did it impart?’ Helios asked.
She smiled and tapped his shoulder with her staff. ‘Our prayers have been heard.’
In the Grand Library, Balthas sat silent, not seeing the pages open before him. His stack of books had been right where he’d left them, as if Aderphi had known he was coming back. Then, maybe the librarians simply hadn’t got around to putting them back before the necroquake had shaken Sigmaron to its core. But he paid no attention to them.
Instead, he was listening to the thunder of realmgates opening and closing throughout Azyr – not only with his ears, but with his soul, attuned as it was to the movements of the aether. The air twisted in seeming confusion, as the dimensional apertures yawned wide, allowing in strange winds. He felt the raw, hot pulse of Aqshy and heard the rasp-scrabble of Ghyran, as ancient pathways were opened. He felt the grinding, tomb-creak of Shyish and twitched as a cold grave-wind whipped through Sigmaron.
It had been decades since there had been such an exodus – not since the battle for the All-Gates. But never before had that exodus included the warriors of the Sacrosanct Chambers. They’d waged wars in secret, fighting only where there was some great need. Few of their fellow Stormcasts even knew of their existence, and those that did had been sworn to secrecy by Sigmar himself. The Sacrosanct Chambers had a sacred duty, and they could not afford distractions.
But it seemed that time had come to an end at last. Balthas had always suspected that it would, though he’d hoped for another century or two. Wars were maelstroms, drawing all things to their centre. That boded ill for his studies.
Even so, he could not deny a sense of anticipation. With no need for secrecy, there would be nothing keeping him from the great libraries of the Mortal Realms, and nothing preventing him from consulting with sages and philosophers without need for go-betweens. He might begin his hunt in earnest.
‘If I am ever allowed to do so,’ he murmured. He heard the rattle of sigmarite on stone and sighed. It seemed his ruminations were once more at an end. Some new difficulty had reared its head, somewhere in the palace-city.