The order had come down from Lord-Arcanum Knossus that the Grand Tempestus was to be reinforced and made ready. She knew that the other temples in the city would be seeing similar activity, as would many of the larger buildings and gatehouses. By dawn, the city would be a chain of interlinked, if somewhat makeshift, fortresses, ready to repel an enemy that shouldn’t even be able to get past the outer walls.
‘He is late,’ one of her warriors said. He was behind her, spread out with the others along the bottom step. There were eleven of them. Twelve counting herself. One for each entrance to the Grand Tempestus. ‘He could not even do us the courtesy of being here on time, this lord-arcanum.’
‘Stop grousing, Tamacus,’ Calys said, more harshly than she’d intended.
‘It is not seemly. This duty is ours.’ Tamacus half drew his blade and thrust it back into its sheath with a rattle.
‘Your duty is to obey me,’ Calys said. She looked back at him. ‘And mine is to obey him. That is the way of it.’
Tamacus bowed his head. Calys stared at him for a moment longer, just to ensure he understood. Then she turned back. As she did so, she heard the familiar screech of a gryph-charger. Her new commander had arrived.
The Stormcasts trooping into the plaza wore the black of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer, which was something of a relief – at least these were from the same Stormhost. The lord-arcanum climbed from his gryph-charger’s back, and his mage-sacristan joined him. ‘Calys Eltain – step forth,’ the lord-arcanum said. He had a softer voice than she’d been expecting – like thunder, but far away. A distant rumble rather than the bone-rattling voice of Knossus Heavensen.
Calys stepped forwards, her helmet beneath her arm. The rain ran down her face, but she ignored it. She met his cool gaze without flinching. ‘I am Calys Eltain, lord-arcanum.’
‘I am Lord-Arcanum Balthas Arum, called by some the Grave Warden. You are under my command now. Is this amenable to you?’
‘If it were not, would it matter?’ The question came to her lips before she could consider it. ‘You are here now.’ She studied him. He was taller than she was – not massive, but simply tall. If he’d been mortal, she might have called him lanky, but clad in armour as he was, that was more due to how he held himself. But there was a power to him. The air crackled about him, as if there were a storm in the offing.
‘I am. You are observant.’
Calys blinked, startled by his sardonic tone. Before she could reply, he went on. ‘You were from Ghur,’ Balthas said, looking through her. She hesitated.
‘I have no memory of my mortal life.’
‘Nevertheless, I see the threads of amber running through you. Mingled with purple and blue. More than most. Born in one realm and died in another. You were forged recently, then. After the realmgates were secured.’ He looked away. ‘You have come far, for one so young.’
‘I seek only to do my duty,’ she said, stung by his tone.
‘As do I.’ He looked back at her. ‘I do not seek to take this responsibility from you. I only seek to do as I have been commanded.’ He gestured towards the Grand Tempestus. ‘You will guard the doors, as you have been ordered. I will see to the outside. Between us, we shall protect the Ten Thousand Tombs from the enemy.’
She hesitated, but only for a moment. He was offering a compromise, of sorts. She nodded. ‘As you say, lord-arcanum.’
‘Good. See to your duties, then, Liberator-Prime. And I will see to mine.’ He turned away, and she knew that she had been dismissed. She gestured curtly, and Tamacus and the others began to climb the stairs once more.
She studied Balthas for a moment longer, and then followed.
Whatever else, she would do her duty.
The deathlords met in a circle of witch-light, a day’s march from Glymmsforge.
Skulls wreathed in eerie green flame hovered attentively around them, bound by the magics of Crelis Arul. The mistress of the deadwalkers had caught up with the nighthaunt vanguard a few days after the fall of Fort Alenstahdt. Her horde stumbled through the sands to either side of them – a flood of tattered meat and twitching limbs, moving unceasingly towards the city in the distance.
Nearby, the silent legions of Grand Prince Yaros awaited their orders. Unlike the shambling deadwalkers, they could be trusted to reach the walls in good time and thus were held back. Despite Malendrek’s claims to the contrary, the deathrattle warriors were the solid core of the army making for Glymmsforge. It would be up to them to hold whatever ground the nighthaunts and deadwalkers took.
Pharus’ own host was close to hand. He could feel the warmth of Dohl’s lantern and hear the constant, impatient murmur of the chainrasps. The guardian of souls had awakened the dead as they travelled the desert paths, and now the broken spirits of those claimed by the Zircona served him alongside those twisted phantoms culled from the Great Oubliette.
Despite his impatience, Malendrek had halted their rush across the desert to wait for the other deathlords to catch up. He was no fool, whatever else, and Pharus had not complained – something told him that he would need every advantage to accomplish the task before him. Now, he maintained his silence, watching as Malendrek laid out his strategy.
‘There is a hole in their defences,’ Malendrek said. ‘I know this because I created it – it was the price Nagash demanded, and I paid it gladly. It is the bleeding wound in Glymmsforge’s side. We must capitalise on it.’ A pale talon clenched into a knotty fist. ‘I will lead the assault. My forces will flood the city and disrupt the enemy. You will follow, consolidating on our gains.’
‘And leave you to reap the lion’s share of the glory,’ Grand Prince Yaros said. The wight king gestured with his axe. ‘Perhaps I should lead the assault. My legions are unbreakable. We have weathered the storms of Azyr before.’ It was more a boast than a demand. Neither Yaros nor Arul seemed inclined to challenge Malendrek – but they seized every opportunity to prick his ego.
Malendrek whirled on the skeletal warrior, his gaze pure balefire. ‘I am in command. Nagash has commanded it thus, and all must obey.’
‘We would not think of doing otherwise, O Knight of Shrouds. Your nighthaunts shall spearhead the assault, and cast open the gates for those of us who must stride on solid feet.’ Crelis Arul stood flanked by her wolves. Their rotting jaws were wet with effluvia, and their eyes squirmed with maggots. She stroked their fraying manes idly as she spoke. ‘We are content to follow at our leisure and make war on your leavings.’
Malendrek turned his fiery gaze on the Lady of All Flesh. ‘Carrion does as it must,’ he said, dropping his hand to the hilt of his blade. ‘The honour of the vanguard is mine. Thus spoke Nagash, and his will cannot be denied.’
Pharus drifted forwards. ‘No. It cannot. And thus, I shall accompany you.’
‘What?’ Malendrek peered at him. ‘Is it the little spirit, then? Still here, little spirit? I thought you lost to the desert wind, by now.’
‘I am not so easily swayed as that,’ Pharus said. Malendrek had done his best to ignore Pharus after the fall of the fort. Together, they had reaped hundreds of souls, but the Knight of Shrouds saw only those he had taken personally. ‘And my own task is equal to yours, Knight of Shrouds. There is something in the city I must claim in our lord’s name. The sooner I do it, the sooner victory is ours.’
‘You are nothing next to me,’ Malendrek snarled. His sword sprang from its sheath. Pharus interposed his own at the last moment. Their blades locked with a screech, like that of enraged beasts. Pharus felt a wave of cold pass through him, and for a moment, it seemed as if the desert were alive with the sound of jackals howling.