Soul Wars

Epilogue As Certain As The Stars

The desert was still burning.

Arkhan knew it would be for some time. He stood atop the ruins of one of the black watchtowers which lined the outer districts of Nagashizzar. The spirits bound to it had been freed during the necro­quake, and so he could stand in blissful silence for a time. His dread abyssal, Razarak, lay nearby, tail clattering as it sat and waited patiently for its master to finish his ruminations. The skull-faced beast hissed softly, and Arkhan nodded.

‘The sky is beautiful, yes.’

The horizon was awash in purple light, and ash fell like snow. Nagashizzar shook with its master’s rage. Whatever came next, in the battle for Glymmsforge, for Lyria or the other underworlds, Nagash would not be satisfied. Once more, Sigmar had thwarted him. The War of Heaven and Death would continue.

The Mortarch of Sacrament could not help but feel some small ­satisfaction at the way things had gone. He had wagered heavily, and lost little. Nagash had no one to blame but himself. The Undying King’s rage would fall on lesser champions, and Arkhan would stand blameless, and loyal, as ever.

The failure had revealed much that was of interest. The Ten Thousand Tombs yet remained waiting – Sigmar had not destroyed them. Perhaps he lacked the power. Or, more likely, the God-King saw them for what they were: a resource yet untapped. The thought sent a prickle of apprehension through Arkhan’s bones. If Sigmar had at last realised what Nagash and the Ruinous Powers already knew – that mortal souls were the most valuable resource in all the realms – then the game had truly entered a new, more deadly phase.

Razarak shifted its weight and hissed in warning. This, plus a bat-like screech from above, alerted Arkhan to the arrival of an uninvited guest. He looked up and saw the feline shape of a second dread abyssal swoop towards the tower. Ashigaroth was as recognisable as its master, and about as trustworthy.

The beast slammed into the edge of the tower and perched there, amid the crumbling ramparts of stone. It shrieked challengingly at Razarak, who responded with a restrained yawn. Arkhan gestured surreptitiously, and his steed settled back, content to ignore the newcomer. Ashigaroth’s rider dropped from the saddle with a rattle of armour and the clink of spurs. Arkhan turned away.

‘I do not recall requesting your presence, Mannfred.’

‘Your little toy failed, liche. As did your scheme. Neferata is probably laughing herself sick in whatever palace she’s currently occupying.’

Mannfred von Carstein’s voice plucked at Arkhan’s awareness like the buzzing of a singularly annoying insect. He turned slightly, as the vampire sidled towards him, smirking. ‘I felt Nagash’s shout of rage echo through my skull. Thought it wise to return and offer my services. Perhaps he’ll send me after Glymmsforge next. Now that you’ve failed.’

‘The battle for the city still rages, leech. Malendrek might yet attain the victory Nagash demands. The Knight of Shrouds could well be elevated to the station he so desires. A new Mortarch come among us.’

Mannfred snorted. ‘Doubtful.’

Arkhan said nothing. Privately, he agreed. Malendrek was powerful, but a fool. He was a weapon crafted from need and regret, blind to his own shortcomings. Much like the one who had created him. He brushed the thought aside as quickly as it had occurred to him. ‘The future is written. What will be, will be.’

‘How very philosophical of you.’

‘Perspective, not philosophy. The end is not in doubt. Only the speed with which it arrives.’ Arkhan looked out over the desert. ‘Though it is best that it does not do so too soon.’

‘That almost sounds like you don’t want it to end at all,’ Mannfred said, slyly. ‘Have you come around to my view at last, liche?’

‘No. I merely wish it to arrive at its predestined time. Death has its place, as all things do. It is part of the cosmic balance – as certain as the stars shine in the heavens, death welcomes all things.’

Mannfred laughed. ‘A measured response. Nagash would not approve, I think. Especially as it concerns the certainty of the stars.’ He tapped his claws against the pommel of the basket-hilted sword sheathed at his waist. ‘I am curious – how does this wish of yours align with your manipulations of Nagash’s newest servant? What scheme was born at the crossing of those two threads, liche?’

‘There was no scheme.’

Mannfred drew his blade with a flourish and let the edge kiss the underside of Arkhan’s jawbone. Behind them, Razarak heaved itself to its feet with a rumbling snarl. Ashigaroth crouched, growling shrilly. Arkhan gestured for his steed to remain where it was. This was nothing more than a bit of play-acting on the vampire’s part.

Mannfred leaned close. ‘Do me the courtesy of assuming that I am not so blind as all that, Arkhan, my old friend. I knew you were up to something the moment you sent Neferata and I away. And so did she.’

‘And yet she is not here.’

‘She is better-mannered than I am. Rest assured, her spies in Nagashizzar and Glymmsforge both have reported all that occurred to her already. But I am here, and put the question to you as one equal to another. What were you up to, if not to seize the glory of conquering Glymmsforge for yourself?’

Arkhan sighed, a sound like wind whistling among gravestones. He reached up and pushed Mannfred’s blade aside. ‘My concerns are neither glory nor conquest. The universe is caught fast between two spheres of order. One, a sword. The other, a shield.’ He thumped the ground with his staff. ‘Shyish is the sword. Azyr, the shield. Thus has it always been. Thus must it always be.’

Mannfred frowned and sheathed his blade. ‘Nagash does not agree.’

‘No. But he believes. And that is all that matters. Between them, Azyr and Shyish held the Ruinous Powers at bay for centuries. Even when lesser gods fell by the wayside, the Lords of Death and Heaven stood firm. They are two parts of the same whole – beginning and ending. One cannot stand without the other. The realms cannot stand without either.’

Mannfred chuckled. ‘I begin to see, now, I think. How clever you are.’ He clapped his hands mockingly. ‘You think to manipulate the gods into open conflict, so that they might – what? – become allies once more, once they’ve vented their divine furies? Lanced the holy boil?’ He leered at Arkhan, teeth bared in a snarl of derision. ‘And then what, eh? Will they turn their attentions to the true foe who besets us?’

Arkhan shook his head. ‘I manipulate no one. Nagash would have done this regardless. But, as you said – there was opportunity in the madness. And so I seized it.’ He paused. ‘And for the first time in centuries, the Undying King and the God-King met face-to-face. And neither destroyed the other.’

‘Clever, liche, clever, clever, clever. Risky, though. A gamble.’

‘Yes.’

‘And what if your gamble should fail?’

‘Then silence shall fall over the realms, and Nagash shall stand alone.’

Mannfred frowned. ‘An unpleasant thought. An eternity of stultifying darkness. Even the damnations of Chaos might be preferable to that.’ He shivered suddenly, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. He looked at Arkhan. ‘If you’d told me sooner, I might have aided you. Neferata would have too. It serves our interests, as well.’

Arkhan looked at Mannfred. ‘If I had told you, you would have simply sought your own advantage. I required a tool fit for purpose, and fortune bestowed one upon me. A weapon of both Azyr and Shyish, but truly part of neither.’

‘And now that that weapon is destroyed?’

‘There will be others. A saying occurs to me, though I cannot recall where I might have heard it… Rival lions must drink from the same oasis.’

Mannfred threw back his head and laughed. ‘Quaint, but apt.’ He turned back towards his steed, flinging the edge of his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish. ‘Let us hope you are right, Arkhan. Let us also hope that Nagash realises it, before it is too late. For if this war continues, it will not be long before the Ruinous Powers seek to turn it to their advantage.’ The vampire climbed into the saddle. ‘And if that happens, we are all surely doomed.’

He thumped Ashigaroth in the flanks, and the dread abyssal leapt from the tower with a raucous cry. Arkhan watched them swoop away, towards the horizon.

‘Yes. Let us hope,’ he said. After a moment, he turned away to take his own leave. Nagash would call for him, soon. There were new plans to be made. New wars to wage.

The Undying King commanded, and his most loyal servant would obey.

As sure as death. As certain as the stars.