‘This is a realm for secrets, sister. You get used to it.’
Calys nodded absently. ‘I know.’ She glanced at Elya. The child peered at her now in open curiosity. Perhaps she’d never seen a Stormcast who wasn’t a man. ‘Also cats and children, apparently.’
‘There are plenty of both in Glymmsforge. Another thing you get used to.’ He looked down at the girl. ‘I must speak to my sister. Go. Back to the city. And don’t play among the tombs. You wouldn’t want the nicksouls or the men o’ bones to catch you, eh?’
Elya scampered away. Pharus waited until she had vanished back up the path and then turned to the new arrival. ‘You will need to learn the safe routes through the labyrinth. They change daily, but there is a pattern.’
‘Another thing to get used to?’
Pharus inclined his head. ‘Even so. The dead find such things confusing. They are creatures of habit, haunting familiar places and stalking the streets they walked in life.’ He paused, studying her. ‘The weaker spirits can be trapped in mirrors or befuddled by moving walls.’
‘Do the dead attack down here often?’
‘More often than you might think.’ Pharus peered down into the abyss. ‘They don’t always hurl themselves against the walls above. Sometimes they come by more circuitous routes. The catacombs that surround us are full of unquiet spirits. Some escape, from time to time, and must be hunted down.’
Calys nodded. ‘The dead cannot be trusted.’
‘Not here, at least.’ Pharus smiled. An old saying, in Shyish. He wondered if she recalled where she’d picked it up. Part of him hoped not. ‘But they have been quiet since Vaslbad the Unrelenting tried to crack the city several years ago. Besides the usual nighthaunts, shackleghasts and scarefingers, I mean.’ He saw that the Liberator-Prime wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she was staring off in the direction Elya had disappeared. He frowned. ‘Speak freely.’
‘The child,’ Calys said. ‘Is she a beggar? I thought I recognised her for a moment.’
‘No. Her father is a lamplighter, when he’s not the worse for drink.’ He hesitated, choosing his next words with care. ‘Her mother is… dead. Twice over.’
Calys looked at him. Pharus tossed the core of his apple to Grip. The gryph-hound snapped it out of the air and crunched it. ‘Her mother – the thing that had been her mother – came for her one night, several years ago. Before you were made one of us, I believe. Smelling of tomb-salts and grave-earth. I banished the creature.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Since then, the child has become my shadow.’
‘You let her come down here?’
‘I cannot stop her. She’s worse than the cats. Always finding new paths through the dark.’ He scratched his chin. ‘It’s a challenge, to be sure.’
‘She could be harmed.’ There was a hint of disapproval there, and something else… Outrage? Or concern. He smiled without mirth.
‘Yes. She knows that. I do not think she cares.’ Pharus tapped the side of his head. ‘Children often have an exaggerated sense of their own durability. I remember that much, from my time as a mortal.’
Calys hesitated. ‘Did you have…’ She trailed off, realising her lack of tact. Pharus waited. It was considered impolite, among the Anvils of the Heldenhammer, to ask about such things. The past was the past. It meant less than dust. And yet, like dust, it clung to you. Even when you thought yourself free of it, it was still there.
‘Yes,’ he said, and felt the old familiar pain, again. As always, he welcomed it. The pain reminded him of why he fought. As it would remind Calys, in time. If she ever remembered who she had been, and what she had lost. ‘Perhaps I may find their shades one day, in one of the underworlds, once our war is won.’ He shook his head. ‘I like to think so, at least. However unlikely it is.’
‘You think the war will end, then?’
‘I think we must have hope. If not for ourselves, then for children like Elya. Else what is the struggle for?’ He clapped her on the shoulder. ‘You are new to Glymmsforge. You will learn in time that hope is the most potent weapon we possess in these dark lands. More, it may well protect you from the enemy.’
‘And what enemy do we face here? Rogue spirits?’ Calys tapped the pommel of her warblade. ‘They cannot be worse than the servants of the Ruinous Powers.’
Pharus laughed. The sound echoed through the cavern, disturbing the bats in their high roosts. ‘The dead do not rest easy here, however pleasant it may seem,’ he said. ‘A great voice calls to them out of the dark heart of this realm and stokes their rage. It drives them to madness.’ He leaned on his halberd and stared down into the great well. ‘Having heard it myself, I can understand.’
‘You heard it – him, I mean. The voice of Nagash?’
‘So have you. You were reforged recently, were you not?’
‘Yes, but… I heard nothing.’
‘You did. You simply may not recall. If you don’t, you are a lucky soul indeed.’ Pharus looked at her. ‘Nagash is God of Death and when we perish, he seeks his due. He claws at us, even as we ascend to Azyr. Tearing away bits of us – of who we are – in his great greed.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I listen. I learn.’ Pharus smiled, his scars pulling tight. ‘You would be wise to do so as well, if you wish to survive, sister. We are strong, but we must be wise, too. The realms are not forgiving of the foolish.’ His smile widened. ‘Still, there are pleasures to be had.’ He reached down into the satchel hanging from his belt. He retrieved two more apples and extended one to her.
‘Would you like an apple? I get them by the bushel from the market, on the rare occasions I seek the sun, such as it is. Nothing better than a good apple, I always say.’ He held it out to her. ‘A vice, I admit, but only a little one.’
Calys took the apple and stared at it, as if she had never seen one. He smiled and gestured. ‘You eat it,’ he said.
‘I know what an apple is.’
‘Just checking. Some experiences are not universal, I have discovered. For instance, I had never seen a megalofin, until after my reforging. And then I was eaten by one.’
Calys choked and stared at him. ‘What?’
‘I survived, obviously. Take more than that to kill me. Still, not an experience I am eager to repeat.’ He bounced an apple on his palm. ‘It’s why I choose to take pleasure in the small things.’
‘And why you choose to let a mortal child play down here?’
Pharus took a bite of his apple and looked at her. She hesitated then looked away. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn.’
Pharus took another bite. He knew better than to say anything. How to explain, how to say those words?
‘I am not one to punish you for speaking truth,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Down here, we must trust each other. We must know without a doubt that the warriors to either side will stand. To perish in Shyish is a terrible thing, sister, and all the more so for we who do not die as men do. This you will learn.’ But I will do my best to see that you never do, for two deaths are enough for any soul.
Before she could reply, a tremor ran through the chamber. Grip stood suddenly, every hair and feather stiff and trembling. Cats hissed and scampered away, seeking safety. The gryph-hound shrilled, and Pharus tossed aside his half-eaten apple. ‘It sounds as if your first lesson is about to begin, sister. Something is amiss, and that usually means we’re in for it.’
‘What is–’ Calys began, as the first shock wave hit.
Pharus was nearly thrown from his feet as the chamber shuddered. Pillars cracked and twisted on their bases, before slamming into the chamber floor. Great clouds of dust rose from ruptures in the ground.