He could sense Miska and Helios, waiting below on the avenue that ran between the two innermost city walls, as he stood impatiently here, awaiting his fellow lord-arcanum, even though he was far senior to the younger warrior. He found his thoughts drawn to Agnostai and the Gilded Reach. Places his careful studies had taken him, and places impulsive Knossus had already been.
It was not a rivalry, for rivalry implied competition. Knossus went where he would and did as he willed, driven by the same desires that drove Balthas. And like Balthas, he did not deign to notice those who lagged in his wake.
It was Knossus who had solved the audient puzzles that sealed the Chiming Vault, and unravelled the riddle of the shadeglass mechanisms within. It was Knossus who had at last translated the alchemical texts taken from the Silver Sepulchre. And it was Knossus who had been honoured by Sigmar, for his victories.
Perhaps Tyros was right, and some part of him resented the other lord-arcanum’s success. Glories that should rightfully have been his had they not fallen into the lap of another. It was irksome. Frustrating, even. He did not like to think of himself as prey to such weaknesses. And yet, here he was, gnawing at himself as he considered the situation.
‘What are you doing, brother?’
‘Calculating, Knossus. How much grain is in the city’s stores?’ Balthas turned as Knossus Heavensen joined him on the top of the wall. He pretended not to notice as the Freeguild sank to their knees, heads bowed. ‘How much water in the wells? How many more men can be mustered to the walls at notice?’
‘I have done those calculations, brother. I have waged this war a hundred thousand times, in life and beyond.’ Knossus took off his helmet and hooked it to his belt. His tattooed features turned towards Balthas. ‘This was my city, once.’
‘Yes. Perhaps it will be so again, in the event of this war’s successful prosecution.’ Balthas did not take off his own helm. He’d always felt more comfortable with something covering his face, when he had to walk abroad. In Sigmaron, it wasn’t so noticeable, but here, something in him wanted a wall between him and this realm.
He caught sight of a small, slinking shape padding across the parapet. And another, crouched on the parapets curving above them. ‘We are being watched. Cats. And a child.’ Balthas looked at the other lord-arcanum. ‘Why are there so many cats here, Knossus?’
‘And children?’ Knossus was smiling.
Balthas grunted. ‘I am well aware of how that particular infestation comes to be.’
Knossus laughed softly. ‘She is an urchin, I expect. There are thousands of them in the city. There always have been.’ He frowned. ‘Despite the best efforts of some.’
Balthas looked away. ‘Mortals are fragile,’ he said. Soldiers glanced at him, and then hurriedly looked away. Balthas paid them little mind.
‘More than you know and less than you think,’ Knossus said. He took a breath, as if preparing for something painful. ‘Sigmar sent your chamber to aid mine.’
‘And so we will. By descending into the Ten Thousand Tombs and guarding them.’
‘They are already under guard, by Lord-Relictor Dathus, of the Gravewalkers Chamber. I have ordered them sealed off. There is no way down. Not without destroying the very defences that have been erected to protect them. I have been assured of it, by the duardin engineers who created them.’
Anger speared through Balthas. ‘Are you mad? How am I to defend something I can’t even get to?’
‘By helping me defend the city,’ Knossus said. ‘I have had reports of what is coming. Three of the desert outposts set along the Great Lyrian Road have been attacked, all contact with them lost. I fear my chamber will not be enough to stem the tide. I need you.’
‘I have my mission, brother. Given to me by the God-King himself.’
‘As do I. They are one and the same.’ Knossus pointed, out over the desert. ‘An army of mad souls, charnel leavings and bird-picked bones is on the horizon, whether we can see it or not. Every dead thing for a thousand leagues is coming here, to Glymmsforge. You know that. You can feel it on the air, as well as I.’
‘Which is why I must defend the Ten Thousand Tombs. The city is secondary to that, brother. Even you must admit that – or perhaps you are letting your nostalgia override your wisdom.’ Balthas regretted the words, even as he spoke them. But it was too late to take them back. He straightened as Knossus stared at him.
‘What are you saying?’
‘I know who you were, Knossus. And I know that is why Sigmar sent you here.’ It came out as an accusation. ‘This city was yours, you said. An attachment of your mortal self – something you ought to have left behind. Tell me, did you ask him to let you garrison this place? Is this your reward for glories accumulated?’
‘How can you think that?’ Knossus asked, his face tight with anger. ‘He sent me here to defend his holdings. And that is what I will do. This city will weather the deathstorm that threatens it, and its people will survive.’
‘This city is no concern of mine. Only what it rests atop.’ Balthas gestured dismissively. ‘You are the greatest of us, a scion of the mightiest Stormhost.’ He indicated the nearby soldiers. ‘You have an army, and the blessings of Sigmar. You have command of a city. What need is there for me?’
‘Are you still so angry with me, then?’ Knossus said softly, after a moment. ‘After all this time, have you still not forgiven me for Agnostai? Will you make me wage a war on two fronts, Gravewarden?’
Balthas looked at him. ‘Wage however many wars you like, brother. You’ll hear not a word from me. It is what you do best, after all.’
Knossus sighed and looked away. ‘Always so stubborn.’
‘If I am stubborn, it is because my mission was given to me by the God-King himself.’ Balthas drew himself up. ‘The Ten Thousand Tombs are my only concern, brother. Not whatever grudge you imagine I bear you.’ He tried to keep his voice mild, but an edge crept in regardless.
Knossus’ tattooed features quirked in something that might have been a smile. ‘That I bear you,’ he said slowly, repeating Balthas’ words. ‘Is that how you think of it, Balthas?’
‘I do not think of it at all.’
‘You were always a bad liar.’
Balthas grunted. ‘Perhaps. Then, perhaps I have never seen the need.’ He made to step past Knossus, but the other caught his arm.
‘What have I done? What offence have I given you?’ Knossus demanded. ‘From the moment we met, you have snapped and snarled at me, beneath your breath.’
Balthas shook him off. ‘I do not know,’ he said, after a moment. He looked out towards the desert. ‘I do not know,’ he repeated, more quietly. ‘Maybe I am envious. Maybe I see in you what I should be, and am not. Or maybe, I simply find you off-putting.’
Knossus snorted. He too looked towards the desert. ‘You would not be the first.’ He glanced at Balthas. ‘You frustrate me, brother. All of us, really. You were among the first of our number, but you wall yourself off from all save Tyros, and even he must make effort to speak to you.’ He leaned against the parapet, his palms braced on the crenellations. ‘Look, brother. Look around you. See what you dismiss so casually. For once, look past yourself.’
Balthas sighed but did as Knossus asked, looking with his storm-sight as well as his eyes. He saw the fear on the faces of every mortal stationed on the wall. More, he saw the hope in their eyes and heard the prayers on their lips. They were frightened, but not broken. Not beaten. They would stand, as surely as the Stormcasts themselves. They would fight and perish, and perhaps, some few among them might return, clad in sigmarite, to fight again. He flinched away from the thought.