Hallowed Knights: Plague Garden

by Josh Reynolds

  Spume thumped the deck with the haft of his axe. ‘And your laughter is as shrill as ever. I can have you thrown overboard, if that is more to your liking.’

  ‘Peace,’ the witch murmured. She raised her blindfold and glanced at Grymn with a single, pus-laden orb. The eye was not that of a human, or even an animal. Instead, it was a dollop of daemonic putrescence, smoothed and shaped into a semblance of an eye. It glistened evilly in the light of the balefire lanterns, swimming with obscene shapes. Grymn turned away from its gaze, sickened to his core.

  ‘Two souls,’ she said, lowering her blindfold. ‘There are two souls in that body.’

  Spume nodded. ‘So I suspected.’ He raised his axe. ‘I’ll be cutting the one out, and salvaging the other. Only I need to know which is which.’

  ‘Hard to say, hard to say,’ Urslaug wheezed, stirring her cauldron with a finger. ‘One thing I do know is you’ll have to fight to keep either. Hark at that.’ She cupped an ear.

  Grymn stiffened. He’d heard it as well. The whisper-crack of whirling hammers. The growl of lightning unleashed. ‘No,’ he said, unable to believe his ears.

  ‘What are you babbling about? I – by the wormy bones of Bolathrax!’ Spume stumbled as something shook the ship down to its barnacles. The prisoners in the bilge-cage screamed and groaned as the hull sprouted numerous leaks.

  Urslaug chuckled and tossed another nurgling in the cauldron. She hadn’t stumbled at all when the ship shook. ‘It’ll take me some time to brew what I need. You’d best go and see to whatever that is.’

  As Spume thudded back above decks, cursing with every step, Urslaug turned to Grymn. A chill ran through him as she gave a tombstone smile.

  ‘Now… we have much to discuss, you and I.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  BLACK SAILS

  ‘Think on this, my friend. The realms, as we know them, are but the echo of an echo. Iterations, extending outwards into an infinity of possibility from a singular source.’ Angstun leaned forward, gesticulating for emphasis. ‘Is not that source – the wellspring, if you will – the truth of the thing?’

  It had been three days since Gardus had entered the realmgate. Three days with no sign of any of them. Three days of trying to bury his worry beneath arguments about truth, beauty and the nature of all things. There were worse ways to spend time.

  ‘More true, you mean, than the air we breathe, or the sun that warms our faces?’ Yare asked, frowning thoughtfully. The Stormcast and the old man sat together on the broken skull of the leviathan, sheltering in the shade of a tattered lean-to. ‘Ansolm of Talbion had it that to conceive of a thing lends it a certain weight of truth. In that sense, the world around us is as true as your wellspring. An equal truth, in fact.’

  Angstun shook his head. ‘You cannot lend equal weight to an echo, Yare.’

  ‘Ah, but who is to say what is an echo, and what is the voice from which it emanates?’ Yare smiled widely and clapped his hands. ‘Indeed, it is even as Dullas of Rhyran said.’

  ‘And now he twists the words of the Sage of Rhyran to make his point,’ Angstun said to one of the nearby Judicators who stood on guard around the skull. ‘Have you ever heard such blatant sophistry?’

  ‘He makes a good point, though,’ the Judicator mused. He scratched his chin. ‘Sarthe of Thyria maintained that reality was a communal effort.’

  ‘I’m surrounded by sophists,’ Angstun bawled despairingly.

  ‘Harsh words,’ Yare protested. ‘My reasoning is built on the bedrock of Dullas and Ansolm. The Verdant School itself. You call that sophistry?’

  ‘Fine, casuistry,’ Angstun amended, waving a hand in surrender. Before Yare could reply, a shout brought him to his feet. He saw a Liberator hurrying towards him, mortals scattering before him like frightened birds. Despite his best efforts, there were still too many people in the fortress. Too many refused to leave Yare, and Yare refused to leave until the last of the innocents were safely gone. Angstun leapt off the skull, and crashed down with a rattle of sigmarite. ‘Balogun, what is it?’

  ‘The Knight-Heraldor requests your presence, my lord. There are… things… coming out of the realmgate.’ Balogun sounded uncertain.

  ‘Daemons?’

  Balogun began to nod, but his head snapped back as a flickering balefire arrow sprouted from the eye-slit of his war-mask. Angstun spun, and saw a group of Rotbringers charging across the courtyard. He barked an order. The Judicators loosed a volley, dropping most of them, including the archers. This wasn’t the first such attack the remaining Rotbringers had made. The citadel was too large, with too many nooks and crannies, to be searched effectively. Those Rotbringers who hadn’t fled periodically launched suicidal raids, attempting to retake parts of the fortress.

  ‘We should have flattened this place when we had the chance,’ Angstun snarled, planting his standard. ‘Yare, calm your people. We can’t protect them if they’re running about.’ The old man began to shout, hands raised. His voice carried easily. Then, he had been an orator before he’d been caught.

  The courtyard trembled, water spurting up through the cracks. Angstun gave a brief thought to Kurunta, fighting down in the dark. He would need reinforcements. But then he thought of nothing save defending himself, as a roaring blightking stumped towards him, rusty blade raised over his lumpen head.

  Angstun shattered the sword, and then its owner’s skull. The blightking flopped to the ground. Spears sought Angstun’s life. The Order armsmen were fanatical and determined to follow their masters into death. Angstun obliged them. Soon, his hammer was wet with blood and brain matter. The remaining Rotbringers fled, scattering across the courtyard. Judicators brought down those they could.

  Before he could order his warriors to hunt them down, he heard a cry from above. A Prosecutor swooped low. ‘Black sails, my lord,’ she called out. ‘Looks like they’ve regained their courage.’

  Angstun cursed. Many of the Rotbringers had fled in galleys and barges when the citadels had fallen. It looked as if someone had finally taken command of the rabble. ‘Do what you can to sink a few. And send word to the retinues in the other citadels. I want them back here now, at the double!’

  ‘More trouble, my friend?’ Yare called down. The old man was pale, but unbent.

  ‘It is time for you to leave, Yare,’ Angstun said. He looked around at the other mortals. ‘All of you.’

  ‘We will fight,’ a mortal said. The man was missing an eye and a hand, and covered in stained bandages. He held a length of iron, pulled from one of the cages. Others took up the call. Angstun looked around, chagrined.

  ‘If you fight, you will die,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘All men die,’ Yare said. Two of his followers helped him to the ground. ‘Not all men die for a great purpose. Would you deny us that, my friend?’

  ‘I would rather you not die at all,’ Angstun said.

  ‘Take it up with the gods,’ Yare said. ‘We will defend this place, and our peoples for so long as the gods will.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, we have not yet finished our discussion. Truth must be pursued at every opportunity.’

  Angstun stared at him. Then he laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose it must.’ He looked around. His forces were sparse, but they would serve well enough. What his Judicators lacked in numbers, they more than made up for in accuracy. He turned to one. ‘Falkus, make your way to the walls. I will join you, in time.’ He signalled a nearby Liberator. ‘Advika, gather your retinue. Reinforce Kurunta. Pass along my apologies, but I must stay here.’

  She slammed the flat of her warblade against her shield. ‘As you command, Knight-Vexillor,’ she said. He watched her lead her warriors away, and turned back to Yare.

  ‘I am going to the walls. Will you see to things here?’

  The old man nodded. ‘To the best of my humble ability.’ He cocked his head. ‘Do not die, friend Angstun. That would be a
poor way to end our conversation.’

  ‘I will do my best.’ Angstun uprooted his standard. As he set off, he couldn’t help but wonder at the timing of it all. Daemons coming through the realmgate, and now this attack? It felt as if the jaws of a trap were closing about them all, and there was nothing they could do about it, save endure. He shook his head.

  ‘Wherever you are, Gardus, I hope this was worth it.’

  Gardus and Tallon stormed across the boarding plank, heedless of the green flames which rose to either side of them. His hammer snapped out, pulping a daemonic visage. His runeblade followed suit, its tip carving a bloody gouge across a bulbous eye. He kicked the blinded daemon from his path, and Tallon pounced upon it, beak tearing at its flesh. The gryph-hound hadn’t left Gardus’ side since they’d found him, and the Lord-Celestant was grateful for the animal’s presence.

  Gardus dropped onto the deck of the galley. The vessel, like the others floating on the plague-slick waters, was aflame. Daemons and corrupted warriors raced to intercept him as he moved towards the rowers’ benches. ‘Enyo,’ Gardus roared, without stopping.

  A rain of arrows descended from on high, punching through armour, flesh and bone. Bodies fell to the deck, twitching in their death throes. Enyo swooped low around the mast, loosing an arrow as she sped towards the stern. A plaguebearer tipped over the rail, clawing at the shaft in its skull.

  Gardus’ runeblade chopped through a coil of chain. The souls at the oars watched him as blankly as all the others had, unable to even conceive of freedom. He looked about him, frustration growing. Behind him, something laughed. He turned to see a distended mountain of a beast squatting behind a rawhide drum atop the aft deck. The creature smiled widely, split lips curling away from greyish teeth. It might have been a man, once, but now it was shapeless with decay and covered in mossy scales.

  ‘They are lost to you, silver one. Lost even to the light that seeps out of your husk.’ Its voice was like boiling mud, and it had stretched, reptilian features. ‘All that reside here belong to the Lord of All Things, body and soul. Even a humble musician, such as myself.’ The creature rose on barrel legs and hefted a filth-encrusted flail. ‘Even you, though you do not yet know it.’

  ‘We are the faithful. And our faith protects us.’

  The creature threw back its head and laughed uproariously. ‘For now.’ It looked around. ‘We were told of your coming, and sought to claim the bounty on your souls. But we were too over-eager. Every plague-dog out for himself. Others will not be so foolish.’ It waggled a fat finger at him. ‘The harder you struggle, the deeper you sink, eh?’

  ‘Unless you have wings.’

  The creature stiffened, an almost comical expression of dismay passing across its reptilian features. It looked down at the tip of the blade jutting between its sagging pectorals. Then it toppled forward, crushing its drums beneath its limp frame. Cadoc held up his starblade, studying the black bile coating it. ‘Why do they talk so much?’ He stepped over the twitching hulk. ‘It is as if they think we are so foolish as to listen to their lies.’

  Gardus straightened. ‘It told me one thing of use. This attack was not simply by chance.’ He looked out over the harbour, scanning the wrecks that littered the waters. Most of the galleys had been destroyed at a distance, scythed clean of crew by arrows and lightning, or the hammers of the Prosecutors. Those that had managed to draw close had been boarded by his warriors and made to regret their eagerness to get to grips.

  ‘Nothing is by chance, Steel Soul. We are the blade of Sigmar, thrust into the very heart of the Dark Gods.’ Cadoc sounded ecstatic. He looked around and laughed. ‘Even here, the thunder of Sigmar will be heard. We shall make the realms tremble with the strength of our faith.’

  ‘I fear this realm trembles with the anger of its creator, rather than any display of ours.’ Gardus turned and saw Morbus making his way towards him, leaning on his staff. The Lord-Relictor’s armour crawled with thin strands of lightning, and his eyes shone with a faint radiance. From the way he moved, Gardus could tell he was in pain.

  ‘Morbus, are you hurt?’

  ‘We lost four,’ Morbus said. ‘Four more souls.’ He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘I have them all. But I do not know for how much longer.’ He looked at Gardus. ‘Our brethren are heavy, Gardus. And they are burning me up from the inside out.’

  Gardus closed his eyes. This was his fault. He had plunged headlong into this place, attempting to save a warrior who was already lost. And now, his chamber would suffer because of it. He took a shaky breath, trying to push the sudden surge of guilt back down. Now was not the time. Later, perhaps. If he survived. But not now.

  ‘Look upon ruin, and remember these words,’ Cadoc said, as if reciting an old lesson learned long ago. Gardus glanced at him, and saw that the Knight-Azyros was watching the enslaved souls, hunched on their benches. ‘Though you cut a man’s spirit, he must bleed all the same.’ His hand inched towards his beacon. ‘Let me end their suffering, Steel Soul. Let me set their bodies alight, so that their souls might rise like smoke.’ Morbus caught his wrist.

  ‘And where would those souls rise to, Cadoc?’ the Lord-Relictor hissed. ‘If you think they suffer now, imagine what torments await them upon dissolution. Soul stuff is the mulch of these gardens. Killing them will only serve to feed newborn horrors.’

  Cadoc jerked his wrist from Morbus’ grasp. ‘Then what would you have us do, Stormforged? Ignore this blasphemy?’

  ‘No. Endure it.’ Morbus pointed. ‘There is nothing we can do. Not here. Grymn’s soulfire grows dim, and there might well be oceans of filth between us by the time you finish sacrificing these lost souls for your own grandeur.’

  Cadoc spluttered, his eyes blazing with anger. Gardus extended his arm, separating the two. ‘Peace, Prince of Ekran. Set aside your anger, and you will see that he is right.’ Cadoc growled wordlessly, but subsided. Gardus looked at the rowers. Some were clambering over the rail, to slip soundlessly into the water. Others simply sat, staring at nothing. ‘Is there anything we can do for them?’

  Morbus turned away. ‘They were drawn here. Their souls glow rotten with despair and the ailments that spring from it – envy, hatred and all that comes with them. And any attempt to help them will only draw Nurgle’s attention to us all the more swiftly. Already, I can feel the weight of his stirring…’ He trailed off, head bent.

  Gardus cast a wary glance to the sky, but saw nothing save the roiling, black clouds of smoke. He stroked Tallon’s bloody skull, and the gryph-hound gave a shrill, rumbling purr. ‘Let us get back to the galley before this wreck sinks.’

  When the Stormcasts had returned to their vessel, Gardus was met by Tegrus. ‘Steel Soul, one ship escaped,’ the Prosecutor-Prime said. ‘I… I did not see it in the smoke.’ Tegrus seemed hesitant. Uncertain. Gardus waved his excuses aside.

  ‘It was not your fault. Without your quick thinking, our foes might have overwhelmed us.’ He looked at Morbus. ‘Could this fleeing galley be the one that holds Grymn?’

  Morbus nodded wearily. ‘It stands to reason. I can feel his essence growing faint, as if he is moving away from us. And at all speed.’ He pointed his reliquary staff. ‘There. That way. Towards the heart of this realm.’

  ‘That was the direction the galley was fleeing in,’ Tegrus said.

  Gardus frowned and extended his hammer towards Tornus and Gatrog. The Rotbringer had remained chained to the mast for the duration of the battle, and the Knight-Venator had stood sentinel over him, dealing death from afar. ‘What is in that direction? More aqueducts?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gatrog said. ‘They are crude things, and overgrown. It will be slow going. And even slower when you reach the tier below.’

  ‘Where is the galley going? Is there some fortress or sanctuary there?’

  ‘There is no shelter in the third level. It’s a wilderness,’ Gatrog said, glaring. ‘The
y will likely be heading for the walled city of Despondency, on the fourth tier. Most captives taken in the first tier are bound for the soul-markets there.’

  ‘Is there any way to get ahead of them?’

  ‘Not unless you can fly,’ Gatrog said. He smiled. ‘But I can show you the quickest route. It will be dangerous, though. Few ships survive that journey. Most take the slow current, around the edges of the jungle, until they reach the outer rim of the Great Vent, the stone tunnel that coils around and down to the very gates of the city. But there are other ways.’

  ‘We cannot trust him,’ Cadoc said. ‘He will send us to our deaths.’

  Gatrog snorted. ‘Aye, and so I will, but I do not lie. Upon my honour, I do not lie.’ He shoved himself to his feet. ‘I swore an oath, and I will fulfil it. They will be waiting for you at the Great Vent. And in greater numbers than here. Only by bypassing the obvious route do you stand any chance of reaching your goal.’

  ‘What is this route?’

  The pox-knight smiled, his expression eerie in the light cast by the flames. ‘A way even daemons fear to tread.’

  ‘Stripe their backs to the bone, Durg,’ Spume roared, as another galley erupted in flame behind them. ‘Get us moving. We need to get out of here.’ He braced himself against the mast, glaring out at the destruction. The shiny-skins had torn through the other galleys like the Red Plague, shattering the shaggy ships and leaving them burning. In a way, it was impressive. Even Khornates couldn’t have done it so quickly.

  Durg uncoiled its whip and gave it a snap. ‘Work, you dogs! Row, or you’ll be food for the poxwyrms.’ The plaguebearer stamped up and down amidships, cursing and snarling in his flat monotone. Spume nodded in satisfaction as the oars began to creak in time to the thudding of the drums. Speed was their ally today.

  The black galley smashed aside a shattered wreck, spilling its remaining crew into the soupy water. Daemons clawed at the hull, trying to clamber aboard. Spume’s crew pried them off with boathooks or lashed their claws with thorny whips. He had no room for the weak aboard his ship. A pall of smoke rolled across the water, momentarily obscuring the battle. Spume refused to relax. The shiny-skins could fly faster than his galley could move.