‘Why did you come here, bloodreaver?’
The question took him aback. ‘I was led here. You know this.’
‘No. Why come to Shadespire at all? What drew you here? Not wealth, I think. Was it simple bloodlust? Or something else?’ Mekesh’s features seemed to flow like mist, but his eyes remained the same. His gaze held Isengrim and pierced him through.
‘A dream,’ Isengrim said after a moment.
‘I dreamed, once. I drank the wine of dreams and gave myself over to monstrous revelry.’ He traced symbols on the glass, but Isengrim could not tell what they meant. ‘I went to war with forbidden secrets and attempted to divine the nature of the realm. I sought a new god to replace the old. But what I found was no god at all. Or perhaps it will be, millennia hence.’
‘I do not understand.’
The Katophrane continued as if Isengrim hadn’t spoken. ‘Frightened, I abandoned my revelries. But the damage had been done. One crime too many, and the heap becomes overbalanced.’ Cracks formed around Mekesh’s hand, spreading outwards in all directions.
‘I fear nothing. Khorne called to me, and I will answer him.’
‘Why do you think Khorne sent you after that skull you so covet?’ Mekesh peered at him, unblinking. ‘Why that one? Why not another? What is so special about this man you chase?’
Isengrim shrugged. ‘Who can say why the gods choose any man? Maybe he has committed a crime, and Khorne demands his punishment.’
‘Or maybe he will commit a crime. The gods are not as mortals. They do not drift along time’s river, but instead are as the water itself. Everywhere and nowhere at once.’ Mekesh smiled, but Isengrim thought it was more a grimace. ‘Maybe this man will do something in days to come that Khorne hopes to prevent.’ He laughed. ‘Thus do the gods punish us all for deeds not yet done. Even you.’
Isengrim blinked. The cracks around the Katophrane’s hand had formed the shape of a skull – not a man’s skull, but that of a god. That of Nagash.
He growled softly, and Mekesh looked at him. ‘You feel him, don’t you? Here. Like a pressure at the base of your skull.’ Mekesh gestured to his head. In the firelight, his face seemed almost fleshless. ‘It weighs you down, like stones placed upon an unquiet grave.’
‘I am not dead yet.’
Mekesh smiled. ‘No.’ He fell silent, gazing at the distant fire.
Isengrim glanced at Ylac and the others, preoccupied by their celebrations, and then moved closer to the Katophrane. ‘What do you mean, that he has marked me?’
Mekesh’s eyes remained fixed on the fire. ‘Nagash marks us all, in his way. He sees all. The dead are his eyes. What we observe, he observes.’
Isengrim’s lip curled. ‘And he observes me.’
‘For the moment. Zuvass speaks highly of you.’
‘He acts as if we are friends.’
‘Perhaps you are. He speaks much the same to me, though I know it is a lie.’ Mekesh shivered slightly. ‘He is a lie.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘He killed me.’ Mekesh looked at him. ‘He is why I am here, behind glass, rather than bone or rotting meat. He came upon me that day, the last day, as I prayed to the god I glimpsed in the dark, and he spoke in a tongue I did not then understand. And he slew me.’ He touched his chest. ‘At least, I think it was him. At first, I was not sure, but now, I think so.’ He turned, staring into the depths of the glass, at something Isengrim couldn’t see. ‘My mind is torn and tattered. Strange images take shape in the lightest breeze. His face – smiling. Wide and grinning, like a skull, but not clean. A daemon’s leer.’
‘Then why do you allow him to serve you?’
A startled expression passed across Mekesh’s threadbare features. ‘I thought you understood. He doesn’t serve me. I… I…’ The Katophrane trailed off, his lucidity slipping away like a morning fog. He stepped back, as if suddenly remembering somewhere else he had to be, and was gone before Isengrim could speak.
Isengrim turned, wondering what had startled him. Looking at several of the great pillars that dotted the courtyard, he realised that motes of amethyst light danced in their cracks. With painful slowness, the stones of the three closest pillars creaked and shifted. Dust sifted as the columns wrought themselves into death’s heads – no. The face of death itself. Nagash. Isengrim shrank back instinctively and raised his axe. The transmogrified pillars glared at him knowingly. Three sets of jaws moved, cracking and dislodging loose sections of stone. No words came out, but Isengrim felt the Undying King’s voice nonetheless.
I… see… you…
The ground beneath his feet cracked and split. Sections of stone thrust upwards all around him, like the talons of some buried giant.
‘I see you as well!’ Teeth bared, Isengrim attacked the closest transformed pillar. Behind him, he heard cries of alarm as Ylac and the others noticed his peril. His blows left massive gouges in the stones, and the god’s face twisted at the provocation. The stones rising all about him began to draw close, as if to grasp him, as the other two pillars bulged in odd ways, as if they might sprout new limbs. Nagash’s faces thrust outwards, stretching towards him, eyes blazing. Wild now, he turned, chopping at them. ‘My soul is Khorne’s,’ he howled.
‘Louder. He didn’t hear you.’
Zuvass stood nearby, watching. The Chaos warrior stood at his ease, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His other hand was extended, blocking Ylac’s path. Isengrim cursed as the ground heaved beneath him and he was knocked to one knee. Nagash was still speaking, his black voice booming through the dark places of Isengrim’s soul.
The god of red fields has no power here… His axe finds no flesh… Only I see you…
Isengrim howled again, trying to keep his courage. Coldness filled him, damping the fires of his fury. Stones dug into his flesh, and he thrashed in pain. Then they fell away. He staggered, and saw Zuvass, blade in hand, easily shattering the twitching stones. Isengrim lurched around and flung his blade towards the pillar.
‘Wherever blood flows, Khorne waits,’ he roared. The axe sank into the stone, and Nagash’s face collapsed in on itself as the pillar toppled.
‘Feel better?’ Zuvass asked as the last of the stones crumbled. Isengrim retrieved his axe and turned. Whatever presence had inhabited them was gone – not fled, he knew, but merely… departed. As if it had grown bored with the game, for the moment. Or as if something else had caught its attention.
‘No.’
‘I told you, you’ve attracted the attention of the gods. The path to glory is not a quiet one, and you cannot tread it unseen.’ Zuvass sheathed his blade. ‘Or unopposed.’
‘Good,’ Isengrim said. He touched the wounds and smeared the blood across his arms and chest. He met Ylac’s gaze, and the other bloodreaver nodded. The story would spread from those who’d seen it to those who hadn’t. They would know that Isengrim of the Red Reef had defied a god. Zuvass had made sure that they’d seen it – another favour the strange warrior had done him. ‘Let them see me. Let them stop me, if they will. I will not fail. The coward’s skull is mine, and I will place it at Khorne’s feet.’
Despite his words, he felt uncertain. He looked up at the cold pinpricks of light spinning in the dark. For a moment, they resembled a great rictus stretched across the sky. He shook himself and looked away. ‘What do you want, smiler?’
‘You mean besides helping you?’
Isengrim glared at him.
Zuvass sighed. ‘To collect you, for a task.’
‘What task?’
‘You’ll see.’
Chapter sixteen
SHADOW MARKET
The marketplace is ubiquitous among the mortal races. Wherever mortals gather, such spheres of commerce inevitably develop, sprouting like weeds in the garden of prosperity…
– Kerst Tertoma
The S
peaking Bough
Reynar was not asleep. He dreamed nonetheless. A lazy sort of dream, running in slow circles. He thought about all he had seen and learned, and tried to assemble the pieces into a shape useful to his needs. He felt as if he were standing at the centre of a vast maze, with no idea of where to turn first. And the maze was slowly, surely, contracting about him.
As he dreamed, he ran his thumb along the convolutions of his amulet. There was a similarity there, if you looked at it from a certain angle. A knotwork of seemingly disparate threads, all somehow running together into a single tangled mass. Like a fractured smile seen from a hundred perspectives.
Something thumped his foot. He cracked an eye. Ilesha looked down at him. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘We’re going to market.’
Reynar hastily put his amulet away. ‘Oh?’ He lay in the shadow of a fallen statue, his hands clasped on his chest, his head pillowed on his bundled cloak. Around him, the courtyard was alive with activity. Sadila had been in a frenzy since they’d reported their failure, and she had the Stormcasts running about, shoring up the defences as if she expected an attack.
‘Yes. You and Khord have volunteered to protect me.’ Ilesha’s robes were overlain with a harness of leather and bronze – some form of armour, he realised. She had a thin sword belted at her waist, and several daggers sheathed opposite it. Her gloved hands were tight about the length of a staff made from some strange black wood.
‘Have we? How generous of us.’
‘Aye, we are kindly sorts,’ Khord growled. Reynar started. He hadn’t heard the fyreslayer arrive. The duardin stood nearby, his maul balanced on one thick shoulder. ‘Now get up. Better this were swiftly done.’
Reynar rose to his feet, frowning. ‘What sort of market? We need no food. No water or wine either, though my throat is parched.’
‘You’ll see when we get there. Now come.’ Ilesha turned and Khord trotted after her. Reynar glanced up and saw Severin looking down at him from a portico above. The Stormcast had his helm beneath his arm, and his weather-beaten features were twisted in a scowl of displeasure. Reynar waved mockingly and hurried after the others.
Khord looked at him as he caught up. ‘You shouldn’t tease him so, manling, else he’ll lose all composure and come looking to take it out on your hide.’
‘He won’t.’
‘No,’ Ilesha said. ‘But Tomas might.’ She jerked her chin west, and Reynar saw a tall figure standing atop a distant column, watching them. His smile faded. The Vanguard-Hunter vanished a moment later, dropping out of sight so utterly it was as if he had never been there at all. Reynar looked away.
The gates groaned open, pushed by their Stormcast guards. Outside the broken walls, more Stormcasts stood watch among the ruins, alongside a few mortals, Bolas among them. He didn’t return Reynar’s wave of greeting, but instead resolutely turned away to stare into the twilight. Khord sighed.
‘Give him time, manling.’
Reynar shrugged, hiding his unease. Bolas’ anger might well turn to something more deadly. He’d seen that sort of thing before, during his time with the regiment. Bolas might find others who shared his distaste, and if they decided to do something about it…
She’d like that, wouldn’t she? All your little overtures undone by a moment of heroism. The voice – his voice – laughed softly. His reflection strode alongside them, through the broken walls of glass that lined the path. How many times must you trip yourself up before it costs you more dearly than you can pay? His reflection was battered and bloody, burned and smashed. Bone gleamed and his armour hung in tarnished rags. Broken teeth flashed in a taunting grin. Best not look too close – we’re not a pleasant sight at the moment.
Reynar tried to ignore the apparition. It was just a trick of the city. A shadow on glass.
That’s exactly what I am. But does that make me any less real?
Reynar shook his head. Around them, the city was quiet. He had the impression it was waiting for something. In the distance, a mountainous shape with no more substance than a morning mist moved slowly through far districts, swinging what might have been its head to and fro. It seemed to be looking for something – or someone. He felt a chill, and resolutely averted his gaze.
‘Don’t look at it,’ Ilesha said softly. Her voice, coming so suddenly, startled him. ‘In this place, it is best that you don’t notice what you don’t want to notice you.’
Reynar nodded, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword. ‘Why are we going to market, then?’ he asked, trying to focus on something else.
‘Apparently some of what we were looking for has found its way into the hands of certain parties.’ Ilesha sniffed. ‘Or so Sadila claims.’
‘You doubt her?’
Ilesha hesitated. ‘No. Not entirely. But it seems very convenient.’ She looked around. ‘Sometimes, I fear this entire thing is a game, of sorts. I can feel it – feel the eyes of an unseen audience on me as I labour to make sense of the scraps you and the others bring me. I can hear their whispers vibrating through every shard of shadeglass. They’re watching, not just because they want me to succeed, but because it’s entertainment for them.’
Reynar frowned. ‘As if we’re in a vast arena, and the Katophranes are sitting in the stands, watching us.’ He scanned the high places, feeling what Ilesha described. He thought back to what he’d seen in the plaza, and before – the faces of the dead, jostling each other for a better view.
‘Perhaps.’ Ilesha looked at him. ‘They were quite enthusiastic about blood sports, those old Katophranes. The arenas in the eastern districts still stand – towering coliseums of shadeglass and iron.’ She twitched. ‘Unpleasant places.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Reynar smiled at her, and she returned it with only a moment’s hesitation. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m surprised they let you out without a full honour guard. At the very least, Severin and his cronies.’
‘Oh, they wanted to. But where we’re going, they’d be more hindrance than help.’ She laughed softly. ‘Chollat only trusts me.’
‘Who’s Chollat?’
‘The master of the Southern Market,’ Ilesha said. ‘He was a treasure hunter. Much like you, I expect. He managed to survive for many weeks before his first death. When he returned, he decided he’d rather not die again. He began to talk to others, organising them for mutual benefit.’ She glanced at Reynar. ‘He wasn’t the first, obviously – the Katophranes did much the same, at least in the early days of Shadespire’s curse. But as they withdrew, new lords assumed command. Chollat’s one.’
‘Do you know any of the others?’
She grinned. ‘A few. Looking for more exits?’
Reynar shrugged. ‘It’s good to have options.’
‘Keep it down, both of you. We’re not alone.’ Khord had pulled ahead of them, and he glanced back, scowling. ‘This isn’t a jaunt to the ore pit.’
‘No. It’s a mission of importance.’ Ilesha swept out a hand, and nearby will o’ the wisps became agitated. The soft lights swept towards her and circled her hand like soft comets. ‘And nothing will stop us.’ She flung her hand up, and the lights rose, bristling and swelling.
The shadows that clung to the street were driven back, revealing hunched, verminous figures watching from the alleyways. They scurried away, squealing, as the light spilled across the ruins, filling every scrap of glass. Reynar heard a great sigh, and felt the pressure he hadn’t even realised was there retreat. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing,’ Ilesha said. ‘At least, nothing of any concern.’
Reynar shared a glance with Khord, who shrugged. ‘I told you,’ the duardin said. ‘Battle-mages come in handy.’
They continued down the sloping boulevard in companionable silence, heading ever southward. Ilesha moved swiftly, with little of Khord’s wariness. It was as if she were excited – perhaps because she wasn’t often a
llowed out, and when she was, she was under guard, or so she said. Reynar watched her covertly. He’d only ever seen battle-mages at a distance. Being so close to one was proving an education.
All the ones he’d seen had been restrained almost to the point of immobility – stiff figures in thick robes, smelling of iron and fire. Wherever they’d looked, grasses had blackened and birds had fallen from the sky. But Ilesha was different – not softer, but less restrained. Amethyst light crackled faintly about her as she moved, as if her magics resonated with this place.
When he wasn’t watching her, he was filling in his mental map, noting the way the city seemed to shift and twitch beneath their feet like a fitful sleeper. Despite the way it morphed around him, he was starting to get a feel for things. In time, he might even be able to find his way around without help. That might come in handy.
He caught a glint of what might have been gold somewhere above, and glanced up. Tomas, shadowing them. Reynar felt his skin crawl at the thought of the silent Stormcast. Someone that big shouldn’t move that quietly. Had Severin sent Tomas to watch over them? Or to watch over him? Either way, he hoped the Stormcast would keep his distance.
He heard the thump of drums echoing through the streets. ‘They seem agitated,’ he said.
Khord grunted. ‘They’re spoiling for a fight. They’re always spoiling for a fight.’ He turned, scanning the horizon of broken rooftops and shattered towers. ‘Hopefully, it’s with someone else this time around.’ The duardin stopped. ‘There.’ He pointed to a stone archway crudely daubed in red. Rusty gibbet cages hung to either side of it. Inside one, a body slumped.
‘That wasn’t there last time,’ he growled. He peered at the corpse and grunted. ‘Of course,’ he muttered, looking away, his face pale.
‘It’s not quite where it was last time,’ Ilesha said, pulling a roll of parchment out of her sleeve. She either hadn’t noticed Khord’s unease, or didn’t care. She retrieved a nib of charcoal from a pouch on her belt and made a notation. ‘It’s shifted westward.’ She licked a finger and held it up, testing the non-existent wind. ‘Yes. Definitely westward.’
Shadespire: The Mirrored City Page 23
