Ghoulslayer

Chapter Four Oathbreakers and Frauds

They emerged from an opening in a hillside, half a mile from the town.

Kurin did not pause for breath as he left the tunnel, and they had to move fast to keep up as their guide rushed into the half-light.

‘Can we trust him?’ asked Maleneth, eyeing the sorcerer as he slipped and scrambled down the rocky hillside.

‘Never trust wizards,’ laughed Gotrek in disbelief. ‘Or aelves, for that matter.’ He scowled at Trachos. ‘Which only leaves you, unfortunately.’ Then he shook his head. ‘It’s not Kurin I trust – it’s Felix.’ Gotrek’s words were becoming less slurred. ‘Besides, he got us out of Klemp, didn’t he?’

They climbed down into a narrow valley, leaving Klemp behind and entering the strange landscape they had spent weeks travelling through since arriving at the coast. It was impossible to see more than a dozen feet or so due to the mist towers – sheer-sided, curved masses that soared up into the darkness for miles. This part of Shyish was relentlessly bleak. No breeze, no birdsong, no animal calls, no trace of mortality. Only one sound punctuated the darkness – the clang of a broken bell, far in the distance. It rang out every few seconds with heartbeat regularity. Maleneth remembered hearing it on the journey to Klemp, but she was surprised to hear it again now, nearly two days later. Time seemed frozen in Shyish. The realm seemed like a single, perpetual moment, hanging ominously over some terrible, imminent catastrophe.

Kurin hurried on, pausing every now and then to make sure they were still following him. Trachos’ wounds caused him to grunt and mutter as he hauled his broken armour over increasingly rocky terrain, but he was far too proud to slow down or ask for help.

They travelled this way for several hours, and Gotrek began to grumble into his beard and complain that Maleneth had not thought to bring food from the Muffled Drum. Not for the first time, Mal­eneth wondered what Trachos would do if she rushed past him and sank a poisoned blade into the Slayer’s back. It was little more than an idle daydream. Her mistress was right – Gotrek was more than a duardin. She had no idea if any of her toxins would work. And Trachos would almost certainly try to stop her. Whatever went on in that battle-ravaged head, he maintained a rigid code of honour. He would not condone a random murder, however entertaining it might be.

The sorcerer came to a halt next to a bleached, skeletal tree and crouched low, looking at something on the ground. There was a confusing mass of footprints.

‘Mordants,’ he said. ‘But not from Klemp. These came from the south.’

Gotrek shrugged, then nodded at some tracks leading north. ‘The morons were heading somewhere with a purpose. And little morons always follow big morons.’

They marched on, following the tracks, and after a while they spotted corpses, sprawled in the dust.

As they approached the bodies, Maleneth’s lip curled in distaste. There were around thirty of them, twisted and feral, all wearing contorted snarls and scraps of bloody cloth. Mixed in with them were a few dead duardin, possibly the ones they had seen in the Muffled Drum. She raised an eyebrow and looked at the Slayer. ‘I see your relatives made a good account of themselves.’

Gotrek glared at her for a moment, golden sparks flickering across his eye. Then he booted one of the dead ghouls and looked at the sorcerer. ‘I didn’t come here to fight these pitiful things. I came for a god.’

Maleneth shook her head. ‘What in Sigmar’s name would you do if you actually found Nagash?’

‘I’d do nothing in Sigmar’s name, aelf. A hammer-hurler’s no better than a corpse-botherer. Once I’ve dealt with Nagash, the God-King is next.’

Trachos tensed and gripped his warhammers. His armour clicked as his head started twitching.

Gotrek laughed and slammed his chest into Trachos’ armour, knocking him backwards. ‘So there is someone in that bloody suit! That’s the spirit, manling. Did Gotrek make you think a bad thought?’

Maleneth stepped back, trying to suppress a smile.

‘You know nothing of Sigmar.’ Trachos sounded furious, but he lowered his hammers and backed away, his head still twitching.

‘I know more than you, manling. I know what happened last time he faced the Ruinous Powers. They trounced him. That’s why he’s hiding. That’s why he’s up there in… Where did you say he’s snivelled off to?’

Trachos was clearly struggling to stay calm. ‘The God-King will reunite the Mortal Realms. That which has been riven shall be reforged. Sigmar has sent his Stormhosts to–’

‘Why?’ The Slayer waved his rune-axe at the grey walls and up at the black stars. ‘Why does he care for any of these stinking pits? I think he’s had too many knocks to the head. Maybe he sits up there hitting himself with his own hammer? Maybe he’s senile? Grungni’s beard! There must be something wrong with him. He’s as much a stranger here as I am. These are not his wars – these are not his people – any more than they’re mine.’

‘Then why drag us down here looking for the God of Death?’ asked Maleneth. In truth, she did not really care, but it was amusing to see Gotrek upsetting Trachos. ‘If you care nothing for these realms or these wars, why pit yourself against Nagash?’

‘Because the gods lied, aelf. They’re oathbreakers and frauds, the lot of them. They know the doom they promised me. They know what they swore. But did they hold up their half of the bargain? No! And here they are, playing games and building empires, like they always do. I turned my back on my friends and my kin because of their lies.’ His expression darkened. ‘And a Slayer does not forget. Not this Slayer, anyhow. I hold true. I remember my bloody oaths. Even when others do not. They’ll give me the doom I was promised.’ He scowled. ‘Or I’ll give them a doom of their own.’

The sorcerer watched the exchange patiently. Then, when the trio fell quiet again, he nodded and continued, following the tracks on through the dust.

Maleneth winked at Trachos, then sauntered after Gotrek.

Kurin led them to one of the soaring mist walls, hesitated briefly, then plunged through it, disappearing from sight.

It was only when they got within a few feet of the mist that its true nature was revealed. It was a tangled vine of spirits – naked, emaciated wretches bound into vast circular prisons. Each of the chimney-like structures was miles tall. There must have been millions of spirits trapped in each one. As Gotrek approached, they screamed, thrashing and struggling, trying to reach him, but they were too tightly knotted to move. Some spoke words Maleneth understood, begging her to free them, sobbing for help.

Gotrek marched straight through the ghosts, following the sorcerer, head low and axe high, like he was shouldering his way through a snowdrift.

Trachos and Maleneth hesitated before the dead, chilled by the cries. Maleneth did not fear death any more than she feared violence, but the enormity of the torment was still overwhelming. So many lost voices. So many twisted faces. And she was going to endure it for that deluded hog, Gotrek.

Trachos stepped forwards, then halted. His head was twitching again. Every now and then, he seemed to notice who he was travelling with, as though it had never occurred to him before. This was one of those times. He stared at her.

‘The Slayer is insane,’ he said.

‘Nothing gets past you.’

He continued staring at her.

She smiled at the irony. ‘And we need to keep him alive until one of us can get that rune.’

She could see Trachos’ eyes through the holes in his faceplate. They were as wild as the eyes of the ghouls. He was a taut string. She just needed to keep pushing. And when he snapped, the rune would be hers.

‘Aelf!’ roared Gotrek from somewhere up ahead.

She closed her eyes, then stepped into the mist with a sigh.