by Warhammer
‘By the Everqueen!’ said Aethenir.
‘A city,’ said Max, in awe.
A city that would be their final resting place in a matter of seconds, thought Felix.
Claudia’s murmuring rose in pitch and volume. Felix could not tell what god or goddess she was praying to, but it seemed that whichever it was, they weren’t listening.
‘This is a bad doom,’ said Gotrek, glaring down at the rapidly approaching sea floor.
‘I agree,’ said Felix, a lump of helpless rage rising in his throat. Now he would never find out what had happened to his father. Now he would never resolve things with Ulrika. Now he would never finish the epic of Gotrek’s death. He put the blame squarely on Claudia. It was her damned visions that had brought them out here in the first place. The woman had seemed determined to ruin his life and his peace of mind since the first moment she laid eyes on him. This calamity was exactly what she deserved for her foolishness. He would have laughed at her demise if he hadn’t been about to share it.
Suddenly, the seeress rose from her crouch, throwing out her arms and diving from the boat. Felix stared. Had she gone mad at last? Was she giving in to the inevitable?
But then she rose above them – or rather they dropped faster than she – while at the same time she turned in the air and swept an arm towards them. Felix felt himself buffeted by an impossible wind – a wind that came from below them, a wind that grabbed at his sleeves and his cloak and tried to tear his grip from the boat.
‘What is it?’ cried one of the Reiksguard. ‘What is the witch doing?’
‘Let go!’ called Max. ‘She cannot support the boat as well.’
Felix’s eyes bulged, and shame flooded his heart. The girl was trying to save them, using some sort of wind spell. He fought his natural inclination to cling for safety and forced his fingers to let go of the boat.
‘Push off!’ Max cried.
Felix kicked away from the floor of the boat, trying to tell himself it didn’t matter how he fell. It would all end the same. The others did likewise. Even Gotrek pushed off, muttering about the untrustworthiness of magic all the while.
Felix looked down as the wind blew up at him from below, and his heart dropped faster than his body. The seeress had left it too late. The ground was rushing up at them too fast. They were too close. She would never stop their descent in time.
But then the wind from below increased tenfold, blasting him like an icy furnace and beating at his face like a living thing. His clothes flapped around him deafeningly. He was slowing! They all were! She was doing it! The wind was stopping them. They were hanging in the air, almost as if they were attached to Makaisson’s air catchers. Claudia floated in the midst of them, her eyes closed tight, her arms out rigidly to her sides, her lips moving furiously.
‘It’s a miracle,’ breathed Oberhoff, looking around him in terrified wonder.
It was indeed a miracle, but they were still going the wrong way. Lift us up, Felix wanted to call, but he didn’t dare break Claudia’s concentration. Get us out of this hole!
They continued to drift down. Was she mad? It was all very well to save them from smashing into a pulp on the ocean floor, but this unnatural whirlpool could collapse any moment.
Twenty feet above the sea floor, Gotrek dropped like a stone. He barked in surprise and fell away from the rest, landing with a wet smack in the mud.
Claudia whimpered and Felix dropped too. He yelped and flailed his arms as the wind that had been supporting him weakened to nothing, and he slammed into the mud a few feet from Gotrek. He bent his knees as he hit and found himself kneeling waist deep in blue-grey silt the consistency of wet plaster. His body rang with shock from the impact, but he didn’t think anything had been broken or sprained. The others plopped down all around him, cursing and crying out, with the last being Claudia, landing ungracefully on her posterior.
Felix looked around as he tried to free himself from the sucking mud. They had landed very close to the shimmering, humming wall of water, on the very outskirts of the ruined city. The shattered remains of their boat stuck out of the muck not far away, and to their left he could see low walls, now little more than piles of seaweed-covered rubble, that might once have been a grand house. The city rose high and white and broken in the distance beyond them, like a collection of impossibly slim and delicate porcelain vases that had been smashed with a mattock. And beyond the ruined spires, lay the towering green cliff of water that was the other side of the whirlpool going up and up and up. The weight of all that water was palpable. It crushed him just looking at it. He didn’t know what was keeping it up, but whatever it was, it certainly couldn’t last. At some point the impossible walls would collapse and the water would come crashing back down to smash and drown them all. It made Felix want to curl up and cover his head.
Around him, the others were struggling to stand, mired to the knees or deeper in the mud, but apparently unhurt. Only Claudia remained motionless, sagging sideways, half-conscious, knee-deep in the muck. Gotrek was in the worst straits, buried up to his chest. He spat out a mouthful of mud.
‘Magic,’ he said, like a curse.
‘Stupid woman,’ snapped Aethenir as he tried to pull the hem of his robes free of the mud. ‘Why did you not lift us out! We are stuck here now!’
Felix felt like punching the elf on the nose, even though he had thought the same thing just seconds before. It was different to say it out loud.
‘High one, control your tongue!’ said Max sharply. ‘She did the best she could.’
‘I’m sorry. I was too weak,’ said Claudia, clutching her head as she came out of her faint. ‘You were too many. I have never tried so complex an incantation before.’ She turned to Gotrek, frowning. ‘You were very slippery, master dwarf. Very hard to hold.’
‘Dwarfs are very resistant to magic,’ said Max. ‘And the Slayer more so than most, I would think.’
Felix extricated himself at last and crossed to Gotrek to offer him a hand. Two of the Reiksguard joined him.
Behind them, Aethenir inclined his head briefly towards Claudia. ‘My apologies, seeress. I spoke harshly out of distress. I see you have done as much as a human can do.’ He looked to Max as she glared at his back. ‘But what now, magister?’ he asked. ‘We are still stuck here. We have only delayed our death.’
‘I will try again,’ said Claudia, seething. ‘But I will need some time to gather my paltry human energies.’
‘Let us pray then that there is time enough,’ said the high elf nodding politely to her again, and apparently oblivious to her sarcasm.
‘Lord magister,’ called Captain Oberhoff. Max and the others turned. He was pointing to the mud a short distance away from him. ‘Look, milord. Footprints.’
Max and Aethenir’s eyes widened.
Max slogged forwards, the mud sucking at his feet with every step. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Aye, sir,’ said the captain.
With Felix and the Reiksguarders’ help, Gotrek pulled himself free of the muck at last, and he and Felix joined Max and Aethenir beside the captain. The holes in the mud were definitely footprints – many pairs of them – and all leading further into the city. Because the wet mud had oozed back into the holes, it was impossible to tell who or what had left them, but whatever they were, there appeared to be about twenty of them.
‘Someone else has fallen down this hole,’ said the captain.
‘Or caused it to be created,’ said Max, ominously. He turned to Aethenir. ‘Do you know what place this is, high one?’
Aethenir looked around, frowning at the distant buildings. ‘It is one of the elven cities that sank during the Sundering, perhaps Lothlakh, or Ildenfane. Without maps and books I cannot be sure.’ He returned his gaze to the mud. ‘But of one thing I can be certain. Whoever has exposed it like this, whoever has come seeking within it, can be up to no good.’
Claudia stood upright, swaying only slightly. ‘Yes. This is the place. This is the heart of
it. There is where the evil will be found that will destroy Marienburg and Altdorf.’
Of course it is, thought Felix, stifling a groan.
Max stroked his muddy beard and sighed. ‘I suppose we better go have a look then, hadn’t we?’
It was hard going, at least at first, each step a strenuous effort as the mud sucked at their feet and clung to their cloaks and robes. It got easier nearer to the city when they found the remains of a paved road. It too was covered with silt, but not nearly as deep.
It was one of the strangest environments Felix had ever travelled through – the delicate white walls of the elven buildings and the slender, jutting towers, now crumbled and covered in a wild phantasmagoria of ornament – shells, starfish and draperies of kelp, baroque filigree of dull-coloured coral, mossy algae, colonies of clinging clams, and stranger, tentacled things that looked like trees from the Chaos Wastes in miniature. Dead fish and feebly gesturing lobsters lay in the mud of ancient alleyways while water dripped from gutters that had known no rain for centuries. And above it all, the impossible green walls of seawater.
Felix couldn’t help but look back at them nervously every few steps, afraid they might drop when he wasn’t looking. At the gates of the city, a high white arch the wooden doors of which had long ago rotted away, he turned one last time and saw something within the water, a strange black shape bigger than a whale, gliding slowly past like a fish within a fishbowl.
‘Gotrek! Max!’ he cried, pointing, but by the time everyone turned around, the shape was gone, vanished back into the green murk beyond the whirlpool.
‘What is it, Felix?’ said Max.
‘A shape,’ he said. ‘In the water. Like a whale.’
Max looked at the wall, waiting for something to appear, then shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was a whale.’ He turned and entered the gate.
The others followed. Felix scowled, feeling foolish, and took up the rear.
Within the walls, the full glory of the elven architecture became apparent. Though much of it had fallen, much more still stood, and it was glorious. The doors and windows were all tall and thin and topped with graceful arches. The columns were delicate and fluted. The streets were wide and well laid out, so that every corner was a new and breathtaking vista.
The party followed the footprints into the heart of the city, where the buildings became even taller and more ostentatious. These were obviously temples and palaces and places of public entertainment, and those that still stood were awe-inspiring in their scale and delicacy – at least to Felix.
‘Flimsy elf rubbish,’ grumbled Gotrek as he looked at it. ‘No wonder it sank.’
Felix expected a retort of some kind from Aethenir, but he was too busy staring at the city. The elf was so fascinated by what he was seeing that he seemed to have lost all fear. ‘Yes,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘It is just as my studies said it would be. This is definitely Lothlakh. The Diary of Selyssin describes the tower of the loremasters just so, but… no, if this is Lothlakh, then surely the Temple of Khaine is meant to be just to the left of the baths. Perhaps it is Ildenfane after all.’
At last the footprints led them to a sprawling, symmetrical palace with high, buttressed towers at each end and a pair of golden doors in the centre, flanked on either side by tall golden statues of regal elves holding swords and staffs. The gold of both the doors and the statues was filthy with black mud and crusted with barnacles and mussels, but they were all still whole.
Gotrek nodded approvingly. ‘That’s dwarf work,’ he said. ‘Made before the elves attacked and insulted us.’
Even that failed to raise a response from Aethenir. He was walking towards the palace like a sleepwalker, his hands waving vaguely at the various details of architecture and placement. ‘It is Lothlakh!’ he said. ‘It must be. This is the palace of Lord Galdenaer, ruler of Lothlakh, described exactly in Oraine’s Book of the East. To think that I have lived to see this.’
‘It is indeed beautiful,’ said Max. ‘But we should perhaps approach it with more caution. It appears that those we seek may be within.’
Aethenir looked down at the footsteps leading to the golden doors, and a nervous look appeared in his eyes as he awoke from his scholar’s dream. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes of course.’ He turned to the captain of his house guard. ‘Rion, take the lead.’
The elf captain bowed and his elves moved towards the broad, muck-covered marble steps to the golden doors. The others followed. Gotrek and Felix and the Reiksguard took up the rear, watching all around.
The doors had been pulled open – by what means Felix couldn’t guess – just enough to allow them passage one at a time. The first of the elves slipped through the opening while the others waited. After a moment he reappeared and beckoned the others through. The party followed him into an enormous entry hall. Felix and the rest looked with wonder upon the gold-chased columns, the crumbling obsidian statues, and the high arched ceiling. Windows that had once been filled with coloured glass were now gaping holes, through which watery green sunshine streamed in, giving the impression that the palace was still under the sea.
The mysterious footprints led across the silt-covered marble floor to a wide stairway that descended into darkness. Max created a small light – less bright than a candle – that he sent ahead of the elf warriors so they could follow the footprints. The silt was heavier here, making the stairs treacherous. Felix gripped the marble banister to steady himself. One flight down, Captain Rion held up his hand and everyone stopped. From below came the faint sounds of movement and conversation, and a bright noise of metal rubbing on metal, like someone endlessly scraping a dagger around the inside of a bell. Felix strained his ears, but could not make out the words or the language that was being spoken. The high elves looked at each other, but said nothing. They continued down the stairs, as silent as cats. Felix and the others tried to do the same.
At the base of the stairway there was an archway that glowed with a strange purple light. The high elves crept to one side of the archway, keeping out of sight, then leaned their heads out cautiously. Felix, Max and Gotrek followed their example.
Through the arch was a moderately large chamber with decorative pillars running down both sides and, at the far end, at the top of three wide marble stairs, a pair of enormous steel, granite and brass doors. Standing on the broad dais before the doors were a number of tall, thin figures, silhouetted in the glow of a purple light that hovered over the head of the one nearest the door – an elven woman in long black robes with black hair to her waist. Her hands were raised towards the door, and weird words poured from her lips in a sinuous melody. Five other robed women surrounded her, while surrounding them were twelve warriors in black enamelled scale mail and helms that were faced with silver skull masks. The tallest of the women wore an elaborate headdress and held a metal wand aloft, spinning a silver hoop on it. It was from this that the metallic ringing sound came.
Aethenir shrunk back behind the arch. ‘Druchii!’ he hissed.
‘Sorceresses of Morathi’s cult,’ said Rion, his hand tightening convulsively on the hilt of his sword. ‘And Endless, the Witch King’s personal guard.’
‘At last,’ rumbled Gotrek. ‘Elves I can kill.’
Rion turned to Aethenir. ‘Lord, we humble house guards are no match for such as these. Even swordmasters of Hoeth would find themselves in difficulty here.’
Aethenir returned his attention to the room, biting his noble lip. ‘We may have no choice,’ he said, his voice quavering.
At the vault, the sorceress with the waist-length hair finished her incantation on a high, sustained note and then stepped back. With a rumble of hidden counterweights and a grinding of stone on stone, the massive doors began to swing out. She turned and smiled at her black-clad companions, motioning them to enter.
When he saw her face, Aethenir gasped and staggered back. ‘Belryeth!’ he whispered. ‘It can’t be!’
NINE
Max turned and looke
d at the high elf, raising a questioning eyebrow. ‘You know this dark elf?’
Captain Rion was looking at Aethenir with a much colder look on his face.
Aethenir looked from one to the other, stepping back. ‘I didn’t know she was druchii.’
Captain Rion’s gaze got colder yet. ‘I believe that requires explanation, Lord Aethenir.’ He motioned the elf back up the stairs, out of sight of the door.
‘Yes,’ said Max, following. ‘I believe it does.’
The others crept back up to the first landing with them, then everybody turned to face the high elf.
‘Now, my lord,’ said Rion. ‘Pray continue. How do you know this druchii?’
Aethenir swallowed. ‘Ah, yes, well, you see, when last she came to me, she claimed to be a maiden in distress. Belryeth Eldendawn she called herself, and she told me–’
‘You mistook one of the fallen ones for a true elf?’ asked Rion, his voice like ice.
‘She didn’t look like she does now!’ squealed Aethenir. ‘Her hair was blonde and she had a beautiful, noble face, and a voice like the sweetest, saddest song ever sung by…’
The high elf caught Captain Rion’s eye and faltered. Felix had never seen an elf blush before. From down the stairs came crashings and smashings and the tinkling of broken crystal. It sounded like the druchii were tearing the contents of the vault apart.
‘Go on, my lord,’ said the elf captain.
Aethenir nodded. ‘She came to me,’ he said, ‘begging for help. She said that her family was in disgrace and could not approach the tower directly, but she must learn something hidden in one of the volumes in the library. Her grandfather, it seemed, had lost a precious family heirloom during the Sundering when he was stationed in one of the cities of the Old World. Recovering it was the only way she could fend off an odious marriage, now that her father had lost the family’s fortune and all honour in a disastrous trading scandal. Her misfortunes moved me to tears.’
Felix rolled his eyes. The poor sheltered elf had obviously never seen a Detlef Sierck melodrama.
