Dolmen and many of the others had come to the same realisation. The Azyrite crouched to his right, rifle hugged to his chest, head bowed in prayer. Bolas and Tirax huddled to their left, hiding behind what was left of a statue. He glimpsed a few others nearby as well, hunkering down wherever they could find cover.
‘What is that thing? Some sort of daemon?’
‘It’s a war golem. The folk of Shadespire used to use them in battle, when the occasion warranted. Though I’ve never seen one quite that big.’ Khord peered over the pillar. ‘Or that shiny.’
‘That’s magic, isn’t it? That light?’
‘They were shrewd, those old Katophranes. They could make some devilish weapons when it suited them.’ Khord looked at him. ‘There’s a sun-stone in there or I’m an orruk.’
‘A what?’
‘From Hysh. A type of stone that sucks up light and heat. Folk used them as light sources, or to stay warm. But someone’s turned this one into a weapon. Clever.’ Khord slumped down. ‘That thing can turn city walls to slag.’
‘Do those things run out of light?’
‘Rarely. We need a plan. Maybe we can draw it off…’
Thunder crashed. Reynar saw a golden shape dart between the pillars, drawing the construct’s gaze. ‘Looks like Tomas has the same idea.’ The Vanguard-Hunter loped away from the plaza, and the construct followed – but only until it reached the edge of the plaza. It stopped, but continued to burn the ruins around it.
Khord thumped the pillar with a fist. ‘Curse it. It must be bound to the vault somehow.’ He shook his head. ‘Some geas preventing it from wandering off.’
Reynar looked at Khord. ‘We need a better plan. And quick.’ He heard a roar and saw Severin lead a cohort of Stormcasts towards the war golem while its attention was diverted. Blades and hammers struck the automaton as their wielders sought the weak points in its construction.
He spotted Golius as the Liberator attacked the war golem’s legs. It looked down, and a blast of heat enveloped the Stormcast. Golius screamed and staggered back, his armour glowing cherry red. He dropped his hammer and shield and clutched at his helm. Smoke boiled from the joins of his war-plate, and Reynar could smell meat cooking.
The war golem reached down and plucked the warrior from his feet. Grasping him in both paws, it tore him in half with ease. It cast the bloody pieces aside as it strode towards Severin and the others, who fell back before its advance.
Reynar watched, half-hoping to see the Liberator-Prime incinerated. But he knew that if that happened, they would surely be next.
Unless you run. Run like the coward you are. Flee and take your chances in the city.
Reynar closed his eyes, trying not to listen.
That’s what you do when the odds turn against you, isn’t it? You run. Except for one time. The one time you should’ve run, and you didn’t, and then… well.
Reynar thrust the heels of his palms into his eyes. Trying to rub away the voice. He looked down and saw his reflection grinning up at him from the shards of shadeglass scattered at his feet. Poor Bellam Gund. But somebody had to pay, didn’t they? And who was he really?
He stared at himself. Half his face was burned, teeth gleaming through the red-and-black mess of his cheek. Dying is for other men – isn’t that what you say?
‘Yes,’ he muttered.
‘We need to get it off its feet,’ Khord snarled, startling him. Reynar risked a glance. The war golem strode across the plaza, cracking stones beneath its heavy tread. Everywhere its gaze turned, stone and glass were reduced to smoking slag. The Stormcasts attempted to stop it, but Severin’s tactical acumen seemed to have reached its limit.
He saw the deadly gaze swing towards Angharad, who stood over a fallen Stormcast. She raised her shield. The beam enveloped her, light and fire spilling across the sides of her shield. She wouldn’t last long. Why didn’t she move?
She’s not a coward. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?
He shook his head, trying to ignore the voice. ‘And then what? It can still burn us to ashes. No. We need to shatter that eye. Dolmen!’ Reynar waved at the Azyrite, trying to catch his attention. Dolmen shook his head and hunkered down. Reynar cursed and crawled towards him. ‘Just how good a shot are you, Azyrite?’ he demanded.
Dolmen looked away. ‘I’m not risking being turned into a pyre to find out.’
Reynar caught him by the front of his coat and drew his knife. ‘If you don’t, I’ll cut your throat here and now.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Dolmen spat, trying to pull himself free.
Reynar pressed his knife to the Azyrite’s stomach. ‘Why wouldn’t I? People keep telling me that death means nothing here. You’ll come back, won’t you? So what are you worried about?’
‘That doesn’t mean I want to burn to death!’
‘Then make your shot count,’ Reynar growled, trying to drag him up.
Dolmen shoved him back. ‘I’ll need somewhere off the ground. I can’t get a good shot from here.’ He peered past Reynar and pointed. ‘There, that rooftop.’
Reynar turned. Dolmen was pointing to something that might once have been a stable, across the plaza. He looked back at him. ‘Can you make it?’
‘If someone keeps that thing looking away.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Khord said. He caught the top of the pillar and swung himself over. As he landed he sprang into motion, racing towards the far side of the plaza. The construct caught sight of him and turned, internal mechanisms grinding thunderously. The beam struck the ground and swept after the duardin, carving a smoking trench across the plaza. A moment later, the flagstones ruptured beneath Khord’s feet, hurling him into the air.
‘Up! Move, move, move,’ Reynar shouted. Dolmen started weaving through the field of rubble, followed closely by several others. Tirax and Bolas fell in behind Reynar as he started making his way towards Angharad.
The Stormcast saw them coming and lowered her smouldering shield. The stones had turned to molten slag around her, and her armour gave off oppressive waves of heat. Reynar stopped short, unable to get close.
‘Get back, mortal,’ Angharad said. She sounded pained. ‘This foe is beyond any of you.’
‘Beyond you as well, from the looks of it. We have a plan.’
Angharad pulled her feet from the melted stones. ‘It had best be a good one.’ She bent down to drag her fallen comrade out of the way. The Stormcast groaned. Hurt, but alive.
‘Better than trying to beat it to death,’ Reynar said. ‘We need to keep it distracted.’
Angharad nodded. ‘Easily done.’ She raised her hammer, signalling the other Stormcasts. Severin raised his blade, returning the gesture. The scattered Stormcasts began to regroup with startling precision. They moved quickly, axes and hammers striking. The construct crushed one to the ground with a fist and sent another skidding away.
Reynar heard Severin shouting orders, and the war golem swung around, away from them. ‘He’s turned it in the wrong bloody direction,’ he snarled. He looked at the others. ‘Come on.’
Bolas blanched. ‘What can we do against that?’
‘Something. Anything.’ Reynar leapt over a fallen statue, moving quickly, before Angharad could stop him. The others followed. The construct turned, sweeping its fiery gaze across the shields of the remaining Stormcasts, driving them back.
Reynar ducked beneath half an archway, sword in hand. Tirax moved up beside him, her blade held low, her veil of coins clinking. ‘We need to turn it so Dolmen can get his shot,’ Reynar said. Tirax met his gaze and nodded silently. Together, with Bolas following, they sprinted towards the war golem.
Reynar saw Angharad hurrying to cut them off. ‘We need to turn it,’ he shouted. ‘Turn it!’ The Stormcast nodded and slammed her hammer into the construct’s leg. Shadeglass cracked, and Reynar realised that the Stor
mcasts’ plan had been more effective than he’d realised – they’d been steadily creating weak points to attack. A slow whittling down of a seemingly unstoppable enemy.
‘There – hit the leg,’ Reynar called out. He skidded beneath the war golem’s arm as it turned. Another beam of heat struck Angharad’s shield as she tried to keep its gaze occupied, driving her back. Tirax gave a sudden ululating cry and thrust her blade into the weak spot. The construct staggered and oscillated its head, sweeping its gaze over her. She fell, her body wreathed in flame.
Bolas cried out and raced towards her, drawing the war golem’s gaze. Reynar tackled him to the ground as Dolmen’s rifle barked, and the sound seemed to echo a thousand times across the plaza. The automaton whirled, its beam playing across the plaza walls, causing them to crumble. Bolas shoved Reynar aside and crawled towards Tirax’s smouldering remains. Reynar stared after him, but only for a moment.
He caught Khord’s eye as the fyreslayer picked himself up from where he’d been flung. The duardin was bloodied, but in one piece. ‘We have to draw its eye back this way, give Dolmen another chance to shatter it,’ he called out.
‘Right,’ Khord growled. He spared a brief glance for Tirax’s remains before charging towards the war golem, bellowing at the top of his lungs. His maul struck the cracked area of its leg, causing it to stagger again. Its beam shot upwards for a moment as the oscillating mechanism spun.
Dolmen’s rifle cracked again. There was a sound like stone splitting, and the light flickered. Smoke abruptly boiled out from beneath the plates of the construct’s head. Then came the roar of internal mechanisms suddenly awash in flame as the head exploded in a gout of fire. The war golem stumbled drunkenly, smoke billowing from within it. Slowly, it sank to its knees. The plaza shook as it finally toppled forward.
Reynar slumped back against a broken pillar, panting as his exertion caught up with him. He looked towards Bolas, who still sat nearby. ‘Bolas, are you…?’ He reached out.
Bolas twisted away from him. The Aqshian was weeping, and singing softly in a dialect Reynar didn’t recognise. Khord caught Reynar’s arm. ‘Leave him, manling. They were lovers.’
Reynar looked at him, and then at Bolas. He shook his head. ‘She’s not dead, is she? Not really. That’s what you keep saying.’
‘But in this moment, she is. He may never find her again. And even if he does, she may not be the woman he remembers. So leave him to his grief. Just for a moment.’ Khord turned and raised his maul, signalling to someone.
Through the smoke, Reynar saw Dolmen trotting towards them, his face and clothes blackened with soot. ‘A good shot,’ Reynar said. ‘I guess you weren’t boasting after all.’
‘I ought to shoot you for letting that thing almost kill me,’ the Azyrite said. ‘You told me you would distract it.’
‘And so we did,’ Khord said. ‘Though it cost us Tirax to do it.’
Dolmen glanced over at Bolas and frowned. He made the sign of the hammer and murmured a brief prayer. Reynar looked away. Though the smoke hung thick on the air, he could see the heavy shapes of Stormcasts approaching.
Angharad was the first to appear. She glanced at Bolas, and then away. ‘You did well,’ she said. ‘A good plan.’ She looked back as Severin appeared. He stood over Reynar, his eyes narrowed.
‘You did this?’ he rumbled.
Reynar met his gaze. ‘You sound surprised.’
Severin grunted and turned away. ‘I am surprised that you survived.’
Dolmen laughed, and Khord swatted him in the stomach, causing him to double over, wheezing.
Reynar shook his head. ‘I am not surprised you did. Stormcasts always do. I have no doubt you’ll climb back to Azyr on a mountain made of our bones.’
Severin glanced at him, his expression hidden by his war-mask. But his eyes were slits. Reynar smiled, pleased that his shot had connected. ‘I want you to remember this next time, by the way. When you decide we’re chattel to be herded. We stopped that thing. Not you. Us.’ He tapped his chest.
Severin glared down at him. For a moment, Reynar thought he might strike. Then, with a harsh exhalation, the Stormcast turned and stalked away. Angharad made as if to follow, but stopped. She turned back. ‘You are a fool to antagonise him. He is trying to protect you. We all are.’
‘Then you do it badly,’ Reynar said. Khord grabbed his arm, but Reynar shook him off. ‘You got most of us killed, and for what? What’s in there? Do you even know?’
‘The Lady Sadila said–’
‘Oh, the Lady Sadila, the Lady Sadila,’ Reynar said. ‘The Lady Sadila is a ghost in glass, and probably insane.’ He pointed at her. ‘And you’re insane for believing anything she says. But maybe you can’t help it. I’ve never known a Stormcast that could think for themselves.’
Angharad stared at him. ‘Do you know why you hate us?’ she asked, her voice harsh. ‘It is because we do what is right, whatever the cost. We put ourselves between you and the world and ask for nothing.’
‘I didn’t realise you knew how to lie.’ Reynar stepped back. ‘You ask for everything, and when we can’t give it, you call us “mortal”, as if being mortal is a weakness and not simply the way it is.’ He slapped his palms against his chest. ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be here. I want to be rich, living off ill-gotten gains in some great city where I’m never expected to strap on a sword and die in the name of a god I never really worshipped.’
‘Blasphemy.’
‘Truth.’ He looked around. Dolmen and the others were openly staring, perhaps in shock that someone had dared to argue with Sigmar’s chosen. He looked back at Angharad. ‘Do you know, there are some places where men put themselves into debt to obtain armour and weaponry, and band together under the banner of their chosen patrons before riding to war in Sigmar’s name? They hope to die so that Sigmar might pluck them from obscurity and reforge them in his image.’ He smiled mirthlessly. ‘To my knowledge, none of them have ever been chosen. You ask everything of us and give very little in return.’
‘You have your life,’ she said.
Reynar hesitated, suddenly uncertain. He felt the others draw back from him, even Khord. The silence stretched until it was abruptly broken by a guttural cry. The sound echoed across the plaza. More cries followed, inhuman bellows that shook the stones. Reynar turned. ‘What is that?’
‘Urkaklad,’ Khord growled. ‘The orruks have come.’
‘Listen – orruks,’ Isengrim said, stopping. He crept through the ruins of the plaza alongside Zuvass and Ylac. His warriors spread out behind him, moving carefully. They had descended after the fall of the war golem. Isengrim’s impatience had nearly outgrown his control.
‘Right on time,’ Zuvass murmured. He turned. ‘They’ll be coming from the west.’
‘We should not have waited,’ Isengrim said, glaring at Zuvass. The thought of losing skulls already claimed in Khorne’s name to the greenskins was a frustrating one. Even more frustrating was the idea that Zuvass had known this would happen and had said nothing.
‘We can handle a few greenskins,’ Ylac said confidently.
Zuvass laughed. ‘It won’t be a few. Occasionally, two warbands will meet, and after the dust has settled, become one. Then that one meets another and the process repeats. Until…’
Isengrim frowned. ‘There’s an army.’ War cries echoed, and he felt his followers stir. He shared their bloodlust. They wanted to attack, to launch themselves into battle and fight until either they were dead or no foes remained before them. His grip on his axe tightened.
‘More a riot, but yes. It never lasts. Nothing ever does, here.’ Zuvass glanced at Isengrim. ‘The Sepulchral Warden does all that he can to prevent such consolidation of power, fearing that it will tip the balance. The city is a prison, and prisons require order. If he doesn’t scatter them, they inevitably turn on one another and split i
nto smaller warbands once more.’ Zuvass’ hand fell to his sword hilt and he turned, looking at something over Isengrim’s shoulder. ‘But we don’t want that just yet, do we, my friend?’
Isengrim turned, and snarled in fury. Ylac and the others did the same, whirling, weapons ready, as they saw the dead men who surrounded them – dozens of them, almost twice their own number. Before he could accuse the Chaos warrior of anything, the Sepulchral Warden appeared from among the gathered dead, trailed by his silent champion and a skeleton clad in a tattered shroud, bearing a reaper’s scythe.
‘No,’ the Warden intoned. ‘Not yet.’ He stood like a statue, his spear at rest, his shield hanging loose on his arm. The only movement was the slow stirring of his cloak in the stale breeze. Zuvass nodded in satisfaction. He looked at Isengrim.
‘Mekesh has convinced our friend that it is necessary – that the orruks may be of use in the future. But it will not last. Once this affair is concluded, things will return to the status quo. Things always settle back into the familiar, in the end. Which is why we must move swiftly, and precisely, while we have his aid.’
Isengrim glowered at the dead man. ‘And what’s in it for him?’
The Sepulchral Warden spoke. ‘The orruks will be driven from this place. The vaults will be sealed. The key hidden.’
‘Key? What key?’ Isengrim turned back to Zuvass. ‘Why are the orruks here?’
‘The same reason we are. To see that our enemy does not claim what is in that vault.’
‘And what is in it?’ Isengrim growled.
‘Nothing that need concern you, barbarian,’ the Sepulchral Warden said. ‘You are meat. Here to do as meat must – fight and die. Only when you at last shed your ugly flesh for good will you know anything more. Only then will you know the truth of all things.’
‘Whose truth?’ Isengrim asked. ‘The God of Bones? What is truth to a digger of graves and a father to worms?’ He felt a thrill of anticipation run through him as the Warden’s champion stepped forward, dragging his heavy blade up. Ylac and the closest bloodreavers tensed, readying their own weapons. Around them, the petitioners rattled their bones. It sounded almost like laughter. Isengrim bared his teeth in a hard grin, glad for the chance to fight something at last. ‘Another dance, then, bag of bones? Shall I cast them further after breaking them this time?’
Shadespire: The Mirrored City Page 18
