by Warhammer
‘Someone warned them we were coming,’ Zana murmured as they entered.
Volker nodded. ‘So it seems. Has this happened before?’
‘Once or twice. Factions within factions, gunmaster.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘An alliance is not a friendship, and you know as well as I do that even Azyrheim has its share of skulduggery.’ She laughed. ‘For all that he is a god, Grungni has never been very good at keeping his intentions secret. And there are many in his employ who serve two masters.’
‘You don’t seem concerned.’
She shrugged. ‘Should I be? I know who I serve.’ She eyed him. ‘What about you?’
‘In this? I have no doubts.’
‘Good.’
‘Even so, if others are on the same trail…’
‘More than likely what we seek is resting in some dusty tomb somewhere, lost and forgotten by everyone. That’s usually the way of it, in my experience. Tomb-robbery is something of a sport in my homeland.’
‘I’m not here to rob tombs,’ Volker said. ‘I just want to rescue my friend.’
Zana nodded amiably. ‘So you are. And I wish you luck with that. Myself, I’m here to earn a fee.’ She rubbed her fingers together. Volker couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the worry gnawing at him.
They passed a number of robed acolytes in the entry hall, mostly worm-folk, with pallid skin and thin faces. But there were also several Azyrites, all bearing the star and hammer sigil of the Order of Azyr prominently somewhere on their person. All of them were engaged in quiet consultation or conversation, and barely noticed the odd group.
At the end of the entry hall, a set of wide double doors marked the entrance to the central chamber. A pair of heavily armoured acolytes, armed with double-handed warhammers, guarded the doors. They allowed the group to enter without comment, though one smiled genially at Nyoka and murmured, ‘Well done, sister.’
Volker glanced at the rounded walls as they passed through the doors and saw that they were decorated with carefully crafted bas-reliefs, depicting scenes he thought were from the history of the Vurmite Order. When he asked Nyoka, she nodded. ‘What is history, but a worm crawling through the soil of time?’ she said, with an air of recitation. ‘That is why this place was chosen. From here, we could see the past–’ she gestured in the direction of the worm’s tail, ‘–and the future, all at once.’ She motioned towards the worm’s head.
Volker whistled softly, impressed. ‘It reminds me of the celestial galleries, in Azyrheim. Books and scrolls gathered in the final days, before the Great Exodus. Millions of them, more than anyone could read in a lifetime.’ He looked at her. ‘Will you be punished for aiding us?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Calva is lector, true, but he is also an outsider. We allowed him here, as we allowed the freeguild, and they have only the authority the Setaen Council allow.’ She sighed. ‘We thought – my people thought – that it would be wise to show hospitality to those who risked so much in order to free us from our enemies. But gratitude has its limits.’ She shrugged. ‘We will abide, as we always do. The storm blows and we endure it. When he is gone, those he has expelled will return and take up their duties once more.’
‘Here’s hoping there’s something for them to come back to,’ Lugash said. ‘A fool like that tears down more than he builds.’ The duardin had been silent since the confrontation.
‘I am sorry,’ Nyoka said, looking down at him.
‘Why? He’s the one who insulted me,’ Lugash said.
‘I am sorry, nonetheless,’ Nyoka said again. ‘The Builder… has long been a friend to our Order. But there are some among the Devoted who see other gods as distractions at best and thieves at worst.’ She smiled, slightly. ‘They think Grungni wishes to steal us away.’
Volker snorted. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Not so,’ Roggen said. ‘The Lady of Leaves seeks worshippers from all races and peoples. So too does the King of Bones. Perhaps the Thunderer’s servants are right to be afraid. There are many who remember the stories of the black days after the Gates of Azyr closed shut, and the God-King abandoned his people…’
Nyoka frowned. ‘He did not abandon us. Not willingly.’
‘And yet it happened,’ the big knight said. He shrugged. ‘It is no bark off me, for my folk have always held faith with the Lady of Leaves and her children. It is she to whom we pledged our swords in the days before Chaos came.’ He looked around. ‘I have never seen so many books. Are there words in all of them?’
Nyoka blinked. ‘Yes.’ She shook her head. ‘There were more, once. Before the skaven took the city. They destroyed many priceless manuscripts – knowledge that can never be reproduced.’ She reached up, and stroked the bindings of several books. ‘We have done what we could. The acolytes of our order scour the realm for lost wisdom, to bring here to safety. Where all might have the chance to learn.’
Volker looked around. Though there was little room for them, there were a few heavy, oaken tables piled high with tomes. Scribes occupied them, hard at work, copying out the information within, for delivery to wealthy or influential patrons. Here and there, men and women with the look of mages or philosophers sat in quiet discussion of some grimoire or other. ‘You mentioned a book,’ he said.
‘The one Oken found, yes.’ Nyoka smiled slightly at his look. ‘I heard you mention his name. I knew him, though not well. He was quite scholarly for a duardin. He came here many times over the years. Searching for this book or that scroll.’
Volker opened his mouth. Closed it. She was right, now that he thought about it. Oken was more scholarly than the majority of duardin. Had that been why he came here so often? Just to make use of the library? ‘So he was,’ he said, finally. ‘You say this one he found?’
‘Oken journeyed into the worm-sea with us, last bleeding season, seeking the ancient ruins there. He found nothing, save a bit of gold, marked with strange sigils. He claimed it was a book, and seemed very excited by it, though it was like no book I’ve ever seen.’
‘Do you still have it?’
Nyoka gestured. ‘Follow me. I had it brought out of the vaults, before I came to get you.’ She frowned. ‘Like as not, that is what alerted Calva.’ She led them through the labyrinth of shelves, nodding occasionally to this person or that.
As they walked, Volker happened to glance up, and noticed a raven, hopping along the top of the shelves. He paused, wondering how it had got in. The bird eyed him as it hopped, as if trying to keep him in sight. He was about to dismiss it when he remembered the ravens in Excelsis. And then later, on Brondt’s craft. He felt a sudden chill. What if Lugash had been right earlier, when he’d claimed the birds were spies?
Before he could say something, the first bird was joined by a few more. Ahead of him, Nyoka came to a halt. ‘What–?’ Volker looked over her shoulder and saw several heavy tables in a natural clearing among the shelves. On one was a peculiar standing rack, from which hung what appeared to be a series of golden beads, bound in leather. Examining it was a figure in black. Two acolytes of the Order lay on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Both had been armed, but their weapons lay nearby, out of reach.
‘Who are you?’ Nyoka demanded. ‘What are you doing here?’
The intruder turned. She wore a black helmet, shaped like the skull of a bird, and black mail and silks beneath her cloak of black iron feathers. Her hand slapped the hilt of the curved blade she wore on her hip as she spun. She drew it with a flourish. ‘Brothers – peck their bones,’ she called out, in a high, clear voice.
The ravens perched on the shelves and archways leapt into the air as one. They swooped towards Volker and the others, croaking. As they drew close, the birds underwent a startling metamorphosis. Their forms expanded, stretching and twisting to become slim obsidian-clad warriors, bearing curved, talon-like blades. They attacked as one, in a flurry of loose feathers and harsh cri
es.
Lugash cackled. ‘Guess I was right, eh, manling?’
Ten
Ninety-Nine Feathers
The black-clad warriors raced forwards, more swiftly than Volker had thought possible. He barely managed to draw one of his repeater pistols before the first of them was on him, blade flashing towards his head. He blocked the blow with the repeater pistol, but was forced back against a shelf. ‘Look out,’ he shouted.
‘We’ve got eyes, manling,’ Lugash snarled as he bounded towards the warriors. The doomseeker roared as he drove a shoulder into one’s midsection, knocking him backwards. As the warrior staggered, Lugash whipped his war-iron out in a wide slash, opening his opponent’s throat to the bone.
Volker drove the haft of his pistol into his foe’s head, gaining enough room to fire. The warrior exploded into a whirlwind of feathers, and the shots passed harmlessly through it. Volker twisted aside as a sword erupted from the whirlwind to chop into the shelf.
To his left, Zana caught one of the black-robed warriors by his cowl and drove him head-first into a bookshelf. The former freeguild captain turned and drew one of the long knives from her belt as another raven-man lunged at her. She whirled beneath his blow, her knife flashing up and across the gap between his helmet and his armour. The warrior staggered back with a strangled gurgle, clutching at his throat. Zana kicked his legs out from under him and stooped to finish the job.
Volker lost sight of her as his own opponent swept towards him, moving in a swirl of feathers. The raven-warrior spat an incantation, and the black feathers shot forwards like arrows. They tore through his coat and nicked his flesh. He threw himself aside as his attacker hurtled by. The raven-warrior’s boots slammed into the side of a bookshelf and he propelled himself after Volker, who’d fallen to the floor. Volker rolled onto his back and levelled his artisan pistol. The warrior’s eyes widened as the pistol’s hammer snapped down with a flash. The ball punched through the black-clad killer’s skull in a spray of gore.
Nearby, Roggen roared and upended a table, sheltering behind it as an arcane blast cascaded over its surface. The table began to warp and twist as the fossilised hairs from which it was constructed suddenly regained their plasticity. Tendrils of bristly hair writhed about the knight as he cursed and hacked at them. Volker scrambled to his feet and moved to help him, reloading as he went.
Lugash barrelled past them, his weapons wet with blood. The ur-gold hammered into his flesh glowed with a hot light, burning to ashes the feathers that jutted from his flesh. He leapt up onto another table, and vaulted towards the black-clad woman. She gestured, and the doomseeker went flying into a shelf. Such was the force of the impact that the ancient shelf toppled backwards, striking another. Luckily, this one was more sturdy, and it stayed upright. Lugash fell to the floor in a cascade of books and scrolls.
Volker heard Nyoka shout something and the writhing tendrils of the table abruptly went slack as a golden radiance suffused it. He glanced at the priestess, and she gave him a brief nod. He levelled his pistol. Her eyes widened and she dropped to the floor as he shot the raven-warrior rising up behind her. He helped her to her feet, as her attacker staggered back. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. But I wish I had brought my – ah!’ She stooped and snatched up a warhammer belonging to one of the fallen priests. She spun it easily, and struck the wounded raven-warrior as he tried to get to his feet. ‘Sahg’mahr provides,’ she shouted, cheerfully. Whirling the hammer, she confronted another. Volker turned and fired with his repeater pistol, clipping a shelf as his target vanished. Cursing, he began to reload.
He saw Roggen and Zana, back to back, trading sword blows with raven-warriors. Elsewhere, Lugash was scrambling to his feet, and Nyoka was fending off a darting attacker with brutal sweeps of her borrowed hammer. He avoided a crackling bolt of eldritch energy as it seared the air black. He twisted and fired, forcing his attacker to duck away. He couldn’t tell how many of them there were. Four were dead, for sure. But there were easily twice that number left. He scanned the chamber, searching for their leader. If he could get to her–
‘If you could get to her, what?’ a quiet voice murmured in his ear.
Volker froze. The inner edge of a curved blade rested against his throat. ‘Your thoughts are as loud as thunder, Azyrite. And your intentions are as bright as day. I could not help but hear them.’ The blade twitched. ‘Drop your weapons.’
Volker’s repeater pistol clattered to the floor. The raven-woman laughed softly. ‘All of them. No – wait.’ Volker hesitated. ‘Take that one in your belt, and shoot the duardin. He offends me.’ Volker frowned. Something about her voice insinuated itself into him, echoing strangely. Despite his attempt to resist, his hand twitched towards his artisan-pistol. Sweat beaded on his skin as he tried to stop himself. But her voice pulsed through him, chaining his will. His head was full of the sound of flapping wings and the harsh crying of ravens.
Then, suddenly, it was gone. The pressure on his mind lifted and he tore his hand away from the pistol. The blade was removed from his throat and he quickly stepped away, turning as he did so and snatching up his repeater pistol.
A second figure stood behind the woman in black, sword-tip pressed to the back of her neck. ‘Hello,’ the newcomer said. ‘My name is Adhema. What’s yours?’
‘Death,’ the woman said, still staring at Volker.
‘Mmm, no. No. That is a title which you may not claim, little sparrow. Though I encourage you to try, if only to see what will happen.’
‘It is the only name that would mean anything to you,’ the raven woman said. ‘It is the only name you will get.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Today, at least. Tomorrow, who is to say?’ She threw back her head and screeched. Volker dropped his weapon and clapped his hands to his ears. As the shrill cry reverberated through the chamber, the remaining raven-warriors leapt upwards, shedding mass, their forms twisting back into those of birds. The flock rose upwards in a screeching storm of feathers. Their leader joined them a moment later and the whole flock spiralled up and away, through the open windows set around the curve of the dome.
‘There is something you do not see every day,’ Roggen said, staring upwards.
‘If you’re lucky,’ Zana said. She pointed at the newcomer. ‘Her sort, I’ve seen too often for my liking.’ She laid the flat of her blade across her shoulder. ‘You are a bloodsucker, aren’t you?’
‘And if I am?’ The woman was tall and dressed in black armour of a curious design, its ridged plates covered in baroque adornment. Her helm was also tall, and topped by a black crest of hair. She planted her sword point-first in the floor and rested her hands on the crosspiece.
Volker spoke up before Zana could reply. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
The vampire eyed him and then nodded.
‘You are quite welcome…?’
‘Volker. Owain Volker.’ He bowed slightly.
She did the same. ‘Lady Adhema, late of Nulahmia and the court of the Queen of Mysteries.’ She straightened with a smile. ‘It was my pleasure, Master Volker. One must aid fellow travellers, mustn’t one?’
‘Fellow travellers?’ Volker repeated.
‘What else would you call us?’ the vampire said, blithely. ‘Given the path we walk, after all? And we are on the same path.’
‘What do you think you know?’ Zana demanded.
‘I know many things. An infinite array of things, in fact. Eternity is a good teacher.’ She pointed her sword at Volker. ‘For instance, I know who you serve. The Crippled God. Grungni.’
‘Are we supposed to be impressed by that?’ Zana said.
‘A little, yes,’ Adhema said.
‘I suppose you serve him as well,’ Volker said, doubtfully. Adhema laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. Almost like the scream of an excited cat.
‘Not even remotely, mortal. I serve She Who Illuminates the Eternal
Night.’ Adhema shrugged. ‘Others of my kind might play coy in that regard, but as my mistress has reminded me on so many occasions of late, I am but a blunt instrument of her will. So, I share my secret freely.’
‘And at length,’ Lugash said. ‘Do all vampires talk about themselves so much?’
‘Only when we’re in need of stimulating conversation.’ She looked at him. ‘Feel free to go dig a tunnel, or whatever it is your folk do.’
‘Enough,’ Volker said. He looked down at the corpses. ‘Who were they? What were they here for?’ He nudged one of the bodies with his long rifle.
‘Nothing good,’ Nyoka said, holding up a feather. ‘They are members of the Ninety-Nine Feathers. Skinchangers and sorcerers. One of the war-cabals of the Sideways City. They serve the King of All Ravens, or so the stories say.’
‘The–’ Volker began, confused.
‘The Changer of Ways,’ Zana said, softly. She looked around warily, still holding her sword. ‘Are we sure they’re gone?’
Nyoka nodded. ‘If they weren’t, we wouldn’t be alive.’ She dropped the feather she’d been holding and wiped her hand on her robes. ‘They don’t leave witnesses.’
‘Then how do you know about them?’ Lugash said, eyeing her.
‘They came once before. Many years ago, when they were sworn to the service of another. He sent them here to steal something. We – my order – stopped them. We captured one, and he bargained for his life, trading knowledge for release.’
‘You let him go?’ Lugash growled incredulously.
‘No,’ Nyoka said softly. ‘But we added his knowledge to our own, and gladly. Knowledge is power, master duardin. It is our bulwark against the darkness, even in these troubled times.’ She traced the image of the hammer etched into her gauntlets. ‘Even unto the end of the worm’s journey.’
