Spear of Shadows - Josh Reynolds

by Warhammer

  ‘You have my oath,’ Ahazian said.

  ‘Aye, so I do. But oaths are fragile things. Better men than you have foresworn theirs. The former owner of that axe, for instance.’ Volundr gestured to the axe in Ahazian’s belt. ‘Anhur made an oath to the Blood God, and to me, and reneged on it. He was prideful and foolish. Do not follow his example.’

  Ahazian touched the axe instinctively. The axe was old and savage, imbued with a hunger that was almost equal to his own. Volundr had gifted it to him, as a sign of respect, he’d thought. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He knew well the name of Anhur, the Scarlet Lord. Anhur of the Black Axe, who’d almost ripped open the belly of the realm, and who’d left a trail of destruction across the very face of Aqshy.

  ‘And what happened to him?’

  ‘Khorne took him.’

  ‘To punish him, or reward him?’

  Volundr was silent for long moments. His misty form thickened and thinned as the wind tugged at it. Finally he said, ‘I do not know. But if I were you, I would be in no hurry to find out.’

  ‘Consider me warned,’ Ahazian said. Almost casually, he lashed out with his hammer and dissipated the sending. He laughed softly. The skullgrinder was an intimidating being. But a kel could not be intimidated. Not even by the gods.

  Something croaked overhead. He looked up and saw several ravens circling the battlefield, their black eyes fixed on the dead. Or perhaps on him. He lifted his hammer in salute before turning to retrieve his now well-fed steed.

  They had leagues to go yet, and as Volundr had reminded him, not much time to do it.

  Eleven

  Gorch

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Volker asked. He stepped aside as a burly Kharadron, pulling a cart loaded with aethergear, bustled past him. The aerial docklands were busy. Trade winds were always blowing, and the Kharadron sought to follow them wherever they blew. Across the wide, flat platform, high above the streets of Shu’gohl, traders ­haggled with captains, seeking the best price for passage or delivery of their goods. Aether-vessels drifted to and fro above the great worm, crowding the heights.

  Nyoka nodded. ‘It will be better this way, I think. I have challenged Calva’s authority once too often. Some time away will be good.’ She wore her armour, but carried a travel satchel and a bedroll slung across her chest. In her hands was a heavy warhammer, its haft carved in the shape of a worm.

  ‘For you, or for him?’

  Nyoka smiled. ‘Both.’ She sighed. ‘Once, the entire order might have accompanied you on this quest. Artefacts such as the one you – we – seek are too dangerous to be left unguarded. Even Calva would agree with that.’

  ‘Did you tell him about what we were after?’

  While the freeguild warriors had escorted Volker and the others back to the aether-dock, Nyoka had conferred with the rest of her order, including Lector Calva. Her request to accompany Volker and the ­others had been agreed to with surprisingly little argument from anyone.

  ‘No. And he did not enquire. I did not think it wise to volunteer the information, though I have no doubt he will find out soon enough.’ She shook her head. ‘He is not a bad man, but he has made his oaths, as we have made ours.’

  ‘Let’s hope we never have to see which is the stronger.’ Volker turned as Lugash stumped towards them. ‘Found him yet?’

  ‘Just listen for the bellowing.’ Lugash hiked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘He’s not happy, the cheating wazzock. Refuses to let us on board. Roggen sent me to get you.’

  Volker sighed. He’d been afraid of this. Zana had insisted that Captain Brondt would be open to transporting them where they had to go. But given that they’d only just arrived, Volker had doubted that Brondt would be as amenable to the idea as Zana believed. Shouldering his rifle, he followed Lugash, Nyoka trailing after.

  Adhema sat on a stack of crates, watching the confrontation. ‘You’re just in time,’ she called out. ‘I think they’re going to shoot her.’

  Volker shook his head. Zana stood at the foot of the Zank’s boarding ramp, staring up at its captain in obvious consternation. Brondt, for his part, seemed serene. ‘I just got here. I haven’t even got my cargo offloaded.’ Brondt chomped on his cheroot as he spoke. Several of his crew stood below him, between Zana and the aethercraft. ‘Haven’t even taken on new supplies, for that matter.’

  ‘Half a favour, Brondt,’ Zana said.

  ‘Flying off without my cargo is worth two, at least.’ Brondt shook his head. ‘I brought you here as an act of goodwill, Mathos. But that’s as far as it goes. Find your own way off this ambulatory rock.’

  Roggen strode towards Volker, Harrow plodding along behind him. ‘He will not let us on the boat,’ he said loudly. Brondt grimaced.

  ‘It’s not a boat, it’s a ship,’ he roared, jabbing his cheroot at the knight.

  Zana snapped her fingers at him. ‘Forget about the Ghyranite. Get back to telling me how you decided you weren’t going to fulfil your oath.’

  Brondt flushed. ‘Woman, I am very close to using you as megalofin bait.’

  ‘At least that way I’d get on the boat,’ Zana shot back.

  ‘It’s not a boat!’

  ‘I don’t care what it is, I’m coming aboard,’ Lugash rumbled. ‘We need transportation, cloud-creeper, and you’re the one who’s going to take us where we want to go.’ Lugash lifted his axe, and Brondt’s crew tensed, glancing at one another nervously. They fingered their weapons, ready to draw them at their captain’s command.

  ‘And where might you be wanting to go, hot-blood?’ Brondt sneered.

  Lugash spat. ‘Gorch,’ he said.

  Brondt stared at him. ‘Gorch. The forest?’

  ‘No. Gorch, the seaside village.’ Lugash frowned. ‘Of course the forest.’

  Brondt’s crew began to murmur amongst themselves. One of them gestured curiously, and Brondt snapped, ‘Belay that, Tagak. I’ll not have one of my crewmen indulging in that superstitious nonsense. And you, hot-blood, if you think I’m going to Gorch of all places…’

  ‘Afraid, Brondt?’ Zana shook her head. ‘And here I thought I was bargaining with the man who once stabbed a harkraken in the brain from the inside of its gullet.’

  ‘Gorch is a forest, woman. Nowhere to land. Nowhere safe, anyway.’ Brondt blew a smoke ring towards her. ‘I wouldn’t risk it, even if you were paying me. Which you aren’t.’

  ‘But I can,’ Nyoka said.

  Everyone looked at her.

  ‘You can what?’ Brondt said, suspiciously.

  ‘Fifty comets, per person,’ Nyoka said. ‘Seventy-five for the demigryph.’

  Brondt goggled at her. ‘What?’ Even Volker was taken aback. That was a small fortune by Azyrite standards.

  ‘Three hundred and seventy-five meteors. A fair price, I believe.’ The priestess smiled benevolently. ‘More than enough to cover ­passage to Gorch, captain.’

  ‘Where would you get that kind of money?’

  ‘My Order has deep coffers, captain, as you are likely aware. We are also always on the lookout for further investments. Like, say, a share in a prosperous cargo concern.’ Nyoka’s expression was serene. ‘Do we have an accord?’

  Brondt stared at her. He shook himself, took a breath and nodded. ‘We’ll leave as soon as we finish unloading. You – ah – you have the money on you?’

  ‘Half,’ Nyoka said. ‘The other half will be provided upon our safe return.’ She reached into her satchel and produced a small sack. It clinked as she dropped it into Brondt’s hand. ‘Is that acceptable?’

  Brondt weighed the sack in his hand. ‘Acceptable.’ He glanced past her, at Adhema. ‘Are you sure you want to bring that one? Can’t trust the dead, you know. Especially that kind.’ He gestured to his mouth. ‘They’re biters.’

  ‘As if I’d ever bite you,’ Adhema said, from the foot of the
ramp. She’d moved so swiftly that no one had noticed. Brondt twitched, his hand falling to his sword. His crew drew their weapons amid a bevy of curses. Adhema grinned. ‘Can’t squeeze blood from a stone, after all,’ she continued.

  ‘She’s with us,’ Volker said firmly. He ignored the looks from Zana and Lugash. Brondt shrugged.

  ‘Fine. You know your business. I’ll let you know when you can board.’

  The next few hours passed slowly. Volker sat on the aether-docks and contented himself with stripping down and oiling his weapons. The others occupied themselves as they saw best. He left them to it. He wasn’t in charge, and they weren’t friends, really. Companions at best, allies of convenience at worst. But then, that wasn’t anything new. Azyrites knew all about allies of convenience.

  As he worked, Volker considered his situation, and calculated the angles. There were currents here that he could not perceive; he’d sensed that the moment he’d answered Grungni’s summons. How long had the god been searching for the Eight Lamentations? And what would he do with them, once he’d found them?

  To serve the god in this seemed the most natural thing in the world. The lessons of the Maker, as filtered through Oken, had been one of the central pillars of his life. But even so, he couldn’t help but question why he’d been chosen. Why had any of them been chosen? Perhaps Oken would know.

  ‘You’re frowning an awful lot, Azyrite,’ Zana said, startling him. He nearly dropped the shot-cylinder he’d been cleaning.

  ‘Not frowning. Concentrating.’

  ‘Looks like frowning to me.’ She sat down beside him on the cargo crates he’d made his seat. She watched the Kharadron work and ­whistled tunelessly. Volker glanced at her.

  ‘Don’t you have something you could be doing?’

  ‘I am doing it.’ She took one of his rags, spat on the side of her helmet and began to polish it. Up close, Volker could see the numerous dents and scratches. The helmet had seen heavy use. He supposed it wasn’t surprising. Mercenaries weren’t rare, by any means. Whole tribes of them could be had for a few coins, if you were of a mind. But lone sellswords were another matter. It took skill to survive alone.

  As she worked, the coins attached to her gauntlet clinked. Volker indicated one. ‘That’s not a meteor, is it? Not ur-gold, either.’

  ‘Torope-chaw,’ Zana said, absently. At Volker’s look of incomprehension, she sighed and held up her hand so he could see the coin more clearly. ‘Torope gold. From the Black Marsh Barony, down south. They dig it out of the excrement of the giant turtles they live on.’ She looked around. ‘A lot like Shu’gohl, really. Fewer libraries, though. And the turtles aren’t so big – about the size of a small castle.’ She gestured. ‘Tiny, comparatively.’

  ‘Turtles?’ Volker asked.

  Zana nodded. ‘They brew good beer there. And there’s this fish-head stew…’ She licked her lips. ‘Delicious.’

  ‘I thought you were from Chamon,’ Volker said. ‘What were you doing in a barony in Ghur?’ For a moment he thought he’d asked one question too many. Zana stared at the coins on her vambrace, picking through them.

  ‘A change of scenery,’ she said, finally.

  ‘Is that why you came to Excelsis? Was it at Grungni’s behest, or…?’

  She looked at him. ‘No. I was heading there anyway. Business.’ A grin flashed, almost too swiftly for him to see. ‘And none of yours.’

  ‘You’re the one who sat down to talk.’

  ‘Talk, not spill my guts. What about you, Azyrite? Why were you in Excelsis?’

  Volker looked down at his uniform. Zana snorted. ‘Not that reason. The real one.’

  Volker sat back. ‘Azyrheim – ever been there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’d like it. Plenty of work for a sellsword.’

  ‘That surprises me.’ Zana held up her helmet, checking for any spots she’d missed. ‘I’d heard it was one of the greatest cities in all the realms. The City of Alabaster Towers. Azyrheim the Eternal. Last and First.’

  Volker snorted. ‘I’m told the walls are alabaster, but I never saw them. The city’s too big, you see. The walls stretch from sunup to sundown, moonrise to moonfall. You can go your entire life without seeing either edge. A lot of people do. They never leave their district.’

  ‘Sounds boring.’

  ‘Not that. Never that.’ Volker sighed. ‘It’s a place of wonder and culture. Or at least, that’s what we like to tell ourselves, in our little enclaves. Time stands still in places.’ He saw her look and smiled. ‘You laugh, but… it does. There are whole districts where people speak and dress strangely. Archaic, almost.’ He hesitated. ‘Familiar, yet not.’

  Zana frowned. ‘Did you ever visit those districts?’

  ‘Once or twice. Their artisans were far beyond anything I’d ever seen then, or since.’ He held up the cylinder of his repeater pistol. ‘I learned what I could, though,’ he added somewhat wistfully as he cleaned the chambers.

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  Volker paused. ‘Sometimes. Some things. The sound of dragon wings splitting the morning air. The smell of the market district at midday.’ He chuckled. ‘The sound of a Makaisson-patented waste-extraction pump, hard at work beneath the better class of privy. I miss that one more and more every day.’

  He began to reassemble his weapon. ‘Other things, not so much.’ He swallowed, remembering the midwinter processions of the Khainites. The dark nights, and the flickering aelfen shadows that crawled across the outer walls of his family’s estate. He’d heard stories of what the celebrants got up to in the poorer districts. Of missing men and women, and screams in the night. He shook his head. ‘Some things, not at all.’ He looked at her. ‘Do you miss Vindicarum?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not at all?’

  Zana hesitated. Then, slowly, she began. ‘I knew a lass there, a proper soothsayer. Folk came for leagues around, looking to make use of her gift. One by one, they’d tell her of their troubles and beg her to give them insight. Save us, soothsayer, they’d cry. And she’d weep, that girl. Because she was a girl.’ She squinted up at the sky. ‘She had no control over what she was seeing. But she’d tell them, and they’d go away happy, mostly. And the next day, there’d be more of them.’ She looked away. ‘More and more, every day, looking for some hope in a hopeless world.’ She fell silent.

  After a moment, Volker cleared his throat. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘They killed her,’ Zana said. ‘Or someone did. She saw something not to their liking and paid the price. Some rich bugger, fresh from Azyrheim, who thought he could buy a better ending than the one he was destined for.’

  ‘And what ending was that?’

  Her grin was savage. ‘My sword spilling his fat guts.’ She hawked and spat. ‘I challenged him to a duel. He accepted. A more merciful death than he deserved.’ She looked at him, her dark eyes empty of anything save satisfaction. ‘She saw her own, you know. Saw it and told me, and damn me if it didn’t happen like clockwork.’ She looked him dead in the eye. ‘No, Azyrite. I don’t miss Vindicarum.’

  She fell quiet, and Volker didn’t press the issue. They sat in silence for a time. Volker watched Brondt conduct an increasingly animated discussion with several other Kharadron captains. All bore the heraldry of the City of Shadows and all had a similar roguish look to them. One even had some form of darkly plumaged bird perched on his shoulder. Every so often, the bird would squawk out in crude mimicry of its master.

  ‘I wonder what they’re talking about,’ he murmured.

  ‘Nothing good, knowing Brondt,’ Zana said. ‘Speaking of which, I hope you know what you’re doing, allowing her to come with us.’ She jerked her chin at Adhema, who crouched nearby, atop a stack of crates.

  ‘No one allows me to go anywhere, mercenary,’ Adhema said, not looking at her. Given the noise of the aether-
docks, the vampire’s hearing was impressive. ‘I go where I will, at my queen’s command.’

  ‘Then why not go by yourself?’ Zana asked.

  ‘Why should I, when the priestess has so kindly paid for my ­passage?’ Adhema turned her head. She crouched in shadow, out of the sun. ‘Besides, I was invited.’

  ‘By him. Not by me.’ Zana pushed herself to her feet. She gestured with her helmet. ‘And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of my way, leech.’

  ‘And mine as well.’

  Brondt stumped towards them. He glared at the vampire. ‘You’ll keep those dainty fangs of yours to yourself while you’re aboard, or we’ll see if you’re the sort that can grow wings and fly.’

  ‘I am well fed, I assure you.’ Adhema sounded almost insulted.

  ‘What was that about over there?’ Zana asked. ‘Gloating to the other captains about your good fortune?’

  ‘Hardly. I was warning them about the Great King.’ Brondt looked up, shading his eyes with one big hand. ‘That beastie is still up there, somewhere. And we’ll be far from the glowbeacons, where we’re going.’ He grinned. ‘But if he shows his snout, we’ll be ready for him.’ He rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘There’s quite a bounty on him, you know. Every aetherport in Ghur has lost ships to that overgrown beast. And I aim to collect.’

  ‘You offered them a cut of the bounty to shadow us, didn’t you?’ Zana asked. ‘Clever, Brondt. Very clever.’

  ‘I haven’t got where I am by being stupid.’ Brondt jabbed a finger into Volker’s chest. ‘Keep that long rifle of yours handy, Azyrite. If it comes to it, I want you to put a ball into one of those great black eyes of his.’

  ‘I doubt it’d kill a leviathan like that,’ Volker said.

  ‘Don’t need to kill him. Just sting him a bit,’ Brondt said, as he stumped away.

  Volker looked up at the sky. ‘Do you think that thing is really still out there?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Adhema said. ‘Take it from me, poppet – once a predator has your scent, it will track you for as long as it takes.’ She leapt down from her perch, causing Volker to stumble back. ‘That was a lovely story, by the way. Perhaps you and I can share anecdotes sometime.’ She flashed her fangs. ‘I warn you though, I get bored very, very easily.’