Shadespire: The Mirrored City

by Josh Reynolds

  ‘You have come far in these short weeks since I found you.’ Zuvass looked around, and Isengrim suddenly recalled his greeting. Zuvass had expected him to come – to demand the attack. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the Chaos warrior. Plans within plans, and him none the wiser. I will split your skull when this is done, smiler. I owe you for earlier, and I will collect before I am done.

  ‘Not far enough,’ Isengrim growled.

  ‘You are certain that this is the only way, Zuvass?’ Mekesh asked. The Katophrane’s voice was weak, soft, like wind whistling through stone. Isengrim stared at the apparition, wanting nothing more than to bury his axe in the shadeglass. The weak were to be trampled, to be ground under and made mortar for the walls of the strong.

  That was the lesson he had learned from the Reef-lords. Weakness made you food. Only the strong avoided hungry jaws and jaded appetites. There was no strength here, only slaves. Mekesh, the Sepulchral Warden, even Zuvass… all slaves. He looked at Mekesh. ‘Why do you hesitate, spirit? Surely the dead do not know fear.’

  ‘The dead know nothing else,’ Mekesh said. ‘All the fears of life, and new ones besides.’ His form wavered and rippled as he circled the chamber, pacing between panes of broken glass. ‘You ask why I hesitate. I am not a warrior. I am not a savage. There is no pleasure for me in this act. It is necessary, and all the more painful for it.’

  ‘Then let us be about it!’ Isengrim slammed his axe into the table, cracking the stone. ‘We have enough warriors, dead and living. We have orruks, even. What more do you need?’

  ‘Surety of victory,’ Zuvass said after a moment.

  Isengrim looked at him. ‘There is no such thing. To make war is to dance on a knife’s edge. There is no surety, save that you will be cut.’

  ‘There is a way. A path through the dark. The dead will walk it as you lead your warriors against the walls.’

  The Sepulchral Warden turned. ‘You claim this, yet I see no proof. How do you know such a path exists?’

  ‘Someone told him,’ Mekesh said. Something in the way he said it gave Isengrim pause. There was something there, an undercurrent he could feel but not see. Annoyed, he shook the thought away. It did not matter. Nothing mattered save the battle to come.

  Zuvass nodded. ‘A century ago, but it feels like only a few days.’ His hand fell to the hilt of his sword. ‘But someone must open the path from the other side.’

  ‘Me,’ Isengrim said.

  ‘No. Our ally is already there, waiting for the signal. That is you. Your attack is the signal that he is to open the path and let us in.’

  Isengrim shook his head. ‘Deception is a waste of time. Why bother when we now have the numbers to overwhelm the enemy?’

  ‘Her followers are not the problem,’ Mekesh said. ‘But Sadila, daughter of Hausa, child of the Fourth House of Shadespire and bearer of the Red Laurel, is. She is the enemy, not them. She is the one we must take. If she escapes, all of this was for naught and the cycle begins anew. Her madness cannot be allowed to continue.’

  Zuvass nodded. ‘The Katophrane will not flee a rabble of bloodreavers and greenskins. Why should she, after all? What have the dead to fear from the living? If she sees the Sepulchral Warden, however, she will know that we have come not for her army, but her. Which means we must be clever… however frustrating you find it, my friend.’

  Isengrim snorted. ‘Fine. It matters not.’ He paused. ‘This ally you speak of – is it the coward? Is that why you spared him my axe?’

  Zuvass paused, as if considering the question. ‘Yes.’

  Isengrim’s lips peeled back from his teeth. ‘Did you promise him his life if he did this thing?’

  ‘If I did?’

  ‘Then you have made an oath you cannot fulfil,’ he growled. ‘You wanted war – war has come.’ He looked at the others. ‘Khorne cries out. I hear him, echoing across lightless reaches.’ Muscles swelling, he wrenched his axe loose from the table. ‘He sent me here for a purpose. This purpose. To claim the skull of a coward and offer it up. I go, with or without the rest of you. You have given me an army, and I will use it.’

  ‘We would not wish you to do otherwise,’ Zuvass said smoothly. ‘The gods demand, and we can but obey. Nagash, Khorne, they both desire the same thing in this case, I think.’

  ‘No man may know the will of Nagash,’ the Sepulchral Warden intoned.

  ‘But we can make a good guess, can’t we?’ Before the Warden could reply, Zuvass pressed on. ‘Sadila’s crimes have been overlooked for too long. Now she builds an army, defying the edicts of Nagash. It must be smashed. But what good does it do if she simply escapes into the Faneway and returns to bedevil us again?’

  ‘You mean to take her captive,’ Isengrim said.

  ‘I mean to take her off the board. If we simply attack, she will flee and leave her forces to die, as she has done a thousand times before.’ Zuvass shook his head. ‘No. This time, we must hold her, take her by surprise.’ He gestured to Hygaletes. ‘Hygaletes and his people know that part of the city. They will find you a path right to the gates of the Jasper Palaces.’

  Hygaletes nodded brusquely. ‘Nagash is the land, and the land is Nagash. We walk within the caverns of his soul. We are blessed, and our task is a holy one.’ He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

  Isengrim snorted. ‘If this city is Nagash’s soul, then he is a foul thing indeed.’

  Hygaletes looked at him, his face blank. Despite himself, Isengrim felt a sudden wariness. ‘It is not foul, brother,’ Hygaletes said softly. ‘It is a thing of dark beauty. Like the wolf-flower which blooms only in moonlight, Shadespire waits for its moment to blossom. And when it does, it shall be wondrous indeed.’ He stretched out a hand and gently clasped Isengrim’s scarred forearm. ‘And you will be here to see it, brother. Rejoice, for your end is set. Nagash has gathered you to him, as he gathers all of the devout. He asks nothing of us save that we die and serve him for evermore.’

  Isengrim wrenched his arm away and stood. ‘You’re mad.’

  Hygaletes smiled. ‘Yes.’ He looked at Zuvass. ‘My people will find you a path. After that, it is in Nagash’s hands.’

  Isengrim grinned. ‘No. It is in mine.’ He pointed his axe at Zuvass. ‘Win or lose, I will have my due. And you will not deny me it this time. Or I will take your head as well.’

  Again, Zuvass hesitated. Then he gave a half-bow. ‘Rest assured, I shall not interfere, my friend. You will have what you are owed. I will see to it myself.’

  Isengrim growled in satisfaction. ‘Good.’ He looked around, meeting the cold, flickering gazes of the dead. ‘I go now, to win your war and my own.’ He tore his axe from the table and turned away. As he stalked from the chamber, he gashed his palm with the edge of his axe. He squeezed blood behind him as he walked, marking the red road to war.

  Marking the way for Khorne.

  Chapter twenty-one

  DECISIONS

  The dead return for many reasons. It is impolite to speak of them until they announce themselves.

  – Lady Emalia Grimsour

  A Lady’s Guide to Spectral Visitants

  Angharad was waiting for Reynar when he reached the courtyard. Someone had seen him crossing the causeway and reported back. Maybe Sadila herself. ‘Come,’ she said, gesturing. ‘The Katophrane wishes to speak with you.’

  ‘I’m sure she does.’ Reynar shifted his burden and glanced back. The causeway gates were simple things. Decorative, rather than defensive. He wondered when the attack would begin. The distraction, as Zuvass called it. He turned away.

  Angharad fell into step with him. ‘I thought for certain you would not return.’

  ‘Do you doubt me that much? Even after the plaza?’

  Angharad laughed harshly. ‘You did only what you had to do to survive.’

  Reynar frowned. ‘Perhaps you’re right
. Is that so wrong though?’

  ‘Only cowards worry about survival.’

  ‘And only fools worry about anything else.’ Reynar looked up at her. ‘I’m not a coward, I just wanted something better than what I had,’ he said, and it sounded false even to him. ‘I was nothing – a jumped-up ranker with another decade of schedules and duty rosters to look forward to, if I didn’t get killed on some godsforsaken battlefield. You can’t understand that. Soldiering was just a way to pass the time and keep the rain off. And when I saw a chance to have something more, I took it.’

  He knew he was talking too much, but he wanted to explain, to make her see that he’d had no choice. Maybe she’d understand if he could make her see.

  Angharad looked at him. ‘I was wrong. You’re worse than a coward. Come.’

  He glanced around the courtyard. He could see that more fires had been lit, and that every Stormcast in the palaces was on alert. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The orruks did not stop at the marketplace. They are on the march.’

  He feigned a look of surprise. ‘Coming here?’

  ‘We do not know. Tomas…’ She fell silent. Reynar looked away.

  ‘He has not returned?’ he asked carefully. She did not reply. He cleared his throat. ‘Did the others make it back safely?’

  ‘Yes.’ Angharad extended her hammer. Reynar followed the gesture and saw Khord lounging near one of the fires, staring solemnly at a familiar helm wrought in the shape of a boar’s skull. As Reynar watched, the duardin tossed the helm into the fire.

  Khord spotted him a moment later and raised a hand in greeting as he began to stand. Reynar made to wave back, but Angharad nudged him forward. ‘Keep moving. He will be here when you return.’

  ‘If I return.’

  ‘And why would you not?’

  He laughed sourly. ‘Sadila is mad. You know it as well as I, whatever Severin insists.’

  ‘Mad or not, she holds the key to escaping this place.’

  ‘Ilesha holds the key.’ He slapped the artefact. ‘This is the key. ­Sadila is a lunatic whose house you’re squatting in.’ He looked at her. ‘You are no fool, Angharad. You see it, don’t you? She sent us to the plaza for her own amusement – three of us could have gone and achieved as much. But she sent an army, in order to show off for her fellow Katophranes.’

  ‘She sent us to save you, as well.’

  ‘Yes, and why?’ He shook his head. ‘She’s the one who led me here, you know.’

  Angharad looked away. ‘You are lying.’

  ‘Why would I lie about that?’ He stopped himself. He was still talking too much. Trying to explain something that hadn’t happened yet to someone who wouldn’t be in the mood to listen when it did. He cast a glance towards Ilesha’s tower. She stood on the balcony, bent over her spyglass. Relief warred with nausea. ‘Never mind,’ he said finally. ‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No. It does not. We do as we must – even you.’ She looked down at him. ‘You have proven yourself. Do not falter now.’

  He didn’t reply. They climbed to the inner causeway and crossed to the garden dome in silence. Reynar could hear the thump of drums somewhere in the night, and the screaming of monsters loose in the ruins. The city stirred, as if holding its breath.

  He expected to see Severin there, but the Liberator-Prime was nowhere in sight. Angharad stopped at the end of the causeway. ‘Remember, mortal – hold your tongue.’ He wondered if it was meant as a warning or advice. He nodded – either way, it didn’t matter – and climbed the steps. He could feel eyes on him. Hostile ones. Or fearful. It was hard to tell which.

  There were dead faces pressed against the broken glass of the walls. For once, they were not speaking, not even whispering, as if they were waiting for something. Not him, he thought. He looked for his reflection, but could not spy it amid the crowd of faceless, pale things. It was just as well. He was in no mood to talk to himself at the moment.

  The gardens were cold. Colder than ever before. Frost rimed the broken glass, and the crystalline growths seemed to tremble as he walked among them. The glass trees rustled, though there was no wind. He waited, the artefact clutched to his chest.

  ‘You came back.’

  Sadila’s voice echoed from all around him. She sounded almost displeased. Had she wanted him to flee? Had she wanted to send her dogs after him, to chase him down and watch as they butchered him?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you might have fled. Sought safety elsewhere.’

  ‘Is there anywhere safer than here?’ He caught sight of her back among the trees and bowed low. ‘You have an army. A fortress. A plan.’

  ‘Yes. I do.’ She came closer, moving slowly. ‘Even so, I did not expect you to return.’

  ‘Always happy to defy expectation. That’s me.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve wondered – what did you do, that you should run to Shadespire?’ Sadila murmured. ‘What crime did you commit that a life scavenging in tombs seemed better?’ She circled him, her smile mocking.

  ‘I’ll tell you that if you tell me why you chose to lead me here.’

  She paused, head cocked. Studying him. ‘I told you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t care what you believe. It amused me, so I did it.’ She sighed. ‘The Stormcasts are so tedious, Reynar. They are used to serving oblique whims, and so do not question. And the others, well… they’ve been here too long. They’re not fun anymore. Even Ilesha has grown dull, and once I thought… well.’ She looked at him. ‘But you. I thought you would be fun.’ She gestured dismissively. ‘Did you bring it, then?’

  ‘What if I didn’t?’

  She smiled. ‘Then I will tell Severin you are a traitor, and he will kill you.’

  Reynar turned, but she was already gone, slipping deeper into the garden, laughing as she went. ‘I found it,’ he said flatly. ‘The thing you sent us to the market to look for. I found it and I brought it back.’

  ‘You are lucky, then, aren’t you?’

  She was to his left, suddenly. He fought the urge to flinch. ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘I saw you earlier, you know – circling the campfires, hissing into the ears of my loyal servants. I was so very pleased to see you finally taking the game seriously.’ She leaned close. ‘Khord, maybe? He’s a kinslayer, that one. It would be no stretch for him to break an oath. Or Ilesha, perhaps?’ She laughed. ‘She’s a plain creature, but powerful. Boring. Not like dear Severin and his followers. Have you convinced any of them to rise up yet?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘No.’

  She laughed again. ‘But you’ll keep trying, won’t you?’

  ‘Maybe I won’t,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m starting to like it here.’ He turned, and she twitched as if startled. He smiled coldly. ‘Maybe you’re right, and this is where I belong.’

  She bared her teeth in a flat grin. ‘Giving up so quickly?’

  ‘What does it matter, so long as we escape?’

  Her grin faltered, but only briefly. ‘Yes. What does it matter? Fine. I accept your surrender.’ She turned away. ‘Go. Leave me. Take the artefact to Ilesha.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He made to go, but stopped. ‘Was it you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My reflection – the way it spoke to me – was that you?’ He turned to find her staring at him in obvious puzzlement. She cocked her head and pointed.

  ‘You don’t have a reflection, Reynar.’

  He turned. There was nothing there. The shadeglass reflected nothing at all. ‘What…’ He stepped back, bravado evaporating. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘How would I know?’ Sadila said peevishly. ‘I did nothing with it. Go away. I’m bored of you now. If you aren’t going to fight, I’d rather not have to see you.’ Despite everything, he thought she w
as telling the truth. Suddenly cold, he fled the garden. He felt at his chest, wondering if he had been wounded somehow, as if that might explain it.

  He did not follow himself down the corridor of mirrors. No reflection, no taunting corpse-self. What did it mean? Was it just another trick of this place? Or something worse?

  The questions rattled in his head as he crossed the causeway. He felt cold inside, as if some part of him had suddenly gone missing. He paused, looking down at the courtyard and the ornamental plazas that spread out around it. Stormcasts strode along the tops of the walls and moved improvised bulwarks into place. Mortals scurried about, getting ready for something.

  He saw Bolas down among them. The Aqshian had painted his skin with ash and was standing over the front gate, peering south. He turned, as if aware he was being watched. But he raised no hand and quickly turned back. Reynar frowned and walked on.

  Khord was waiting for him at the bottom of the causeway steps. He eyed Reynar up and down and smiled. ‘Tougher than you look, manling.’

  ‘Tough enough.’ Reynar forced a smile. ‘Glad to see you survived as well. And Ilesha.’ He glanced up at her tower. ‘Is she up there?’

  ‘Where else?’ Khord peered at him. ‘When you ran, I thought for sure you were gone for good. I thought the city would devour you.’

  ‘It didn’t. And it didn’t devour this, either.’ Reynar showed Khord the artefact.

  Khord gestured for him to put it away. ‘Keep that thing to yourself. Never know who might be watching.’ He looked around. ‘The air stinks of orruk. Gurzag is on the move. Wrecking the market was just the beginning.’

  ‘He’s after the map,’ Reynar said. Zuvass had explained that much. The Chaos warrior had seemed inordinately pleased with himself, as if there were some difficulty in manipulating an orruk into attacking someone – anyone.

  Khord spat again. ‘More than like, he wants to smash it, just to keep anyone from using it. The Ironskull likes it here, I’ve heard.’ He looked at the wall. ‘My runes are itching. The orruks will dash themselves against the wall, and we’ll break them. It’ll be a glorious fight, though. Even Severin might crack a smile.’