‘And that is all I will ever be, as long as you walk this world,’ Mannfred said. He slid down the wall and sat. Hands dangling across his knees, he laughed bitterly. ‘I will always be in the shadow of giants. You, Neferata, Abhorash… even that old monster W’soran. You carved up the world before I realised what was happening.’ He smiled. ‘I wonder where they are now.’
‘Neferata is doing what she has always done, boy. She rules.’
Mannfred grunted. ‘Yes. She rules the land we bought in blood and fire.’
Vlad chuckled. ‘Such is the way of queens.’ He leaned his head against the roots. ‘W’soran is dead, I think. If such a thing can die. Otherwise he would be here, with us, scheming away.’
‘And Abhorash?’
Vlad was silent for a moment. Then, ‘Abhorash fights. But he fights alone. He will not serve Nagash, or any man. Even so, some small part of the world will survive the coming conflagration, thanks to him. Where Abhorash stands, the enemy will never triumph.’
Mannfred looked at him. ‘You know where he is,’ he said finally.
‘I’ve made it my business to know where my people are. Especially him. Walach’s bloodthirsty lunatics were but pale shadows of the Red Dragon. Even Krell would not be able to match him. There is nothing alive or dead in this world that can, I think.’ He sighed. ‘What I wouldn’t give to fight beside him once more.’ His gaze turned inwards, and his expression lost its mask of jocularity. Mannfred studied him in silence. For the first time in their long, often bitter association, Vlad looked his age – old beyond reckoning, and battered on the rocks of existence. ‘We should, all of us, the last sons and daughters of Lahmia, be here. We were the first, and we should be here at the last.’
‘Life’s just not fair, is it?’ Mannfred said, spitefully. Vlad glared at him. He pushed away from the cage, and shook himself, as might one who has just awoken from a long dream.
‘No, it is not. It is a beast, and it is always ravenous. It eats and eats, but is never satisfied.’ He tilted his head. ‘Do you remember the day we met? Do you remember the first lesson I taught you?’
Mannfred said nothing. Vlad looked disappointed. ‘The first lesson was this… nothing stays the same. No matter how hard we fight, no matter how much we struggle, the world moves on. The world will always turn, empires will rise and fall, and if we are not careful, we will be drowned in the ocean of time. We must adapt and persevere.’
‘That is what I was attempting to do, before you came back and ruined everything,’ Mannfred snarled. He shot to his feet and flung himself at the bars of his cage. He slammed into the roots and thrust his arm through, clawing for Vlad’s face.
Vlad stepped back, out of reach. ‘Whatever ruin has been wrought, it was not my doing, but yours. It was your foolishness that saw Nagash resurrected, that saw the elven realms thrown into turmoil, and the Empire weakened in its darkest hour. You pulled down this house of cards, boy, not me. The Dark Gods exploited your hubris, and now we all must pay the price.’
‘From where I stand, I seem to be paying the price for us all.’
‘You might be the safest of us, boy. Here, hidden away in your living tomb. You’ll be safe from the fires that flicker on the horizon. It is my last gift to you.’ Vlad pulled his cloak tight about him. He smiled. ‘Rest now, my son. Your labours are over.’
‘Vlad, do not leave me here,’ Mannfred hissed. ‘You cannot leave me here. You need me. Nagash needs me. I know things, Vlad – about your so-called allies, about our enemies – but I can’t tell you if I’m trapped here!’
‘Nor can you try and use those secrets to benefit yourself at the expense of everyone else. I know you, boy. I know what monster drives you, and I know that if we are to have any hope at all, you must be left here, and forgotten.’ Vlad turned away. ‘Close your eyes and sleep, boy. Dream, and learn from your mistakes.’
‘Vlad,’ Mannfred called out. Then, more loudly, ‘Vlad!’
The elder von Carstein did not stop, or even glance back.
And soon, Mannfred was left alone in the dark once more.
Vlad von Carstein flexed his hand, and admired the way the dappled light which dripped through the verdant canopy overhead played across his ring. He felt better than he had in months. His death and resurrection had cleansed his system of Otto Glott’s blight, freeing him from the pain and weakness which had afflicted him since the Battle of Altdorf. The light stung his flesh, but he relished the clarity that came with such aches. It would help keep him focused in the hours and days to come.
He glanced up at Nagash. The Great Necromancer stood silent and still, as if he were some ancient idol, dug up from the sands of Nehekhara and carted to Athel Loren. Only the ever-shifting shroud of spirits which draped over him, and the flickering witch-light in his eye sockets, betrayed his awareness.
Arkhan, as ever, stood at his master’s right hand. Equally immobile, he nonetheless gave the impression of being far more alert than the Undying King. Vlad smiled. Arkhan made for an effective watchdog. Though he’d been stripped of flesh, the soul of the man yet remained. He was no dull, dead thing, his senses muffled by time and Nagash’s will. For all that he pretended otherwise, there was still enough of the back-alley gambler in the liche to make him dangerous. Much like Vlad himself.
His smile faded as he thought of Mannfred, buried down in the dark. Ah, my boy, what a disappointment you turned out to be. Too ambitious to see the trap laid out before you. Then, if it hadn’t been Mannfred, it would have been someone else. The world was winding down, and had been for centuries. It could not be turned back. It could only be stopped – frozen at the last moment of the last hour, eternally poised on the precipice. But that was better than nothing. The world would survive, in some fashion.
He looked across the glade. As before, only a select few were present. The elven Incarnates, of course, and the Emperor as well. Teclis and the woman, Lileath. The Bretonnian duke, and the dwarf runesmith. And, of course, Balthasar Gelt. Vlad met the wizard’s gaze, and inclined his head respectfully. Gelt too had cleansed himself, his mind and will no longer infected by the spiritual malaise which had been eating away at him when they’d first met on the Auric Bastion. Gelt had fallen, and been reborn as something new and powerful. Vlad smiled again, thinking of his own rebirth; the first, and the hundreds which followed, down the long road of years. He rubbed his thumb over his ring.
Gelt didn’t return his nod. Then, Vlad hadn’t expected him to. He let his attentions wander. He could hear the sounds of battle in the distance, to the west. That would be the elf-prince, Imrik, fighting against one of the many marauding herds of beastmen which threatened Athel Loren. The creatures grew bold, as the world weakened. They had penetrated the forest’s defences, and got farther into its depths than ever before. The elves hunted them now, where they were not fighting them openly, and not alone. As a gesture of good faith, men, dwarfs and even Nagash had lent their forces to that effort.
The Emperor’s man, Volker, led woodsmen from Middenland and Averland as well as foresters from Quenelles in daily patrols through those parts of the forest safe for human travel, and thus likely to be stalked by beastmen. Dwarf gyrocopters patrolled above the pine crags, and Vlad had set loose a few of his more over-eager followers, including Eldyra, on the hunt – a task which the elf-turned-vampire seemed to relish. He frowned. She was self-destructive, that one. Her new life did not sit well with her, and she was ever at odds with her fellow Drakenhof Templars. He had been forced to break up more than one confrontation in the past few days, and his patience with the former princess of Tiranoc was wearing thin.