Spear of Shadows - Josh Reynolds

by Warhammer

  Volker shook his head. ‘That is none of my affair. I’m just a man, and I have enough to worry about. The gods can look after their own affairs.’

  ‘If that were true, you would not be here, aboard this vessel, seeking one of the Eight Lamentations on behalf of your master.’

  Volker was silent. In truth, he’d wondered that himself. Why had Grungni sent them, rather than hunting for the weapons himself? What could they do that a god could not? But as he wondered, the answer came to him. ‘Action and reaction.’

  Adhema frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘An action causes a reaction, yes?’ He gestured. ‘A blade enters flesh, a man dies. A loud noise starts an avalanche. Actions and reactions. If a god acts, other gods react. If Grungni seeks the weapons openly, so too will others. And the weight of their tread, the fury of their war, would crack the realms.’

  ‘As if it has not already,’ Adhema said.

  Volker shrugged. ‘True. Perhaps I’m wrong. But I suspect I’m not.’

  ‘And so, you do his bidding.’

  ‘It needs to be done.’

  ‘How do you know he hasn’t put the thought there, like a smith hammer­ing a nail?’ Adhema tapped her head. ‘The gods speak, and mortals obey. You cannot help it. It is like a great wave bearing down on you, and all you can do is run ahead of it. Run where they want you to.’

  ‘And is Nagash any different?’

  ‘Nagash is… all,’ Adhema said, finally. ‘He contains multitudes. Even as Sigmar does. The gods are not men, and do not exist as men, confined to one life. I have seen Nagash unbound – a titan of death, striding across a field of corpses. Wherever his shadow fell, the dead rose and walked, hungry for the flesh of the living. And I have seen Nagash-Mor, calm and silent, weighing the hearts of dead souls against a feather. And there are other aspects, I’m told. The Forlorn Child, who leads those who die before their allotted time to gentle slumber, and the Black Priest, who gives succour to those whose deaths are too painful to be borne. All are one in Nagash and Nagash is all.’

  ‘And which Nagash do you serve?’ Volker asked.

  ‘The one who can win the war for Shyish.’ Adhema’s fingers drummed against the pommel of her sword. ‘The one who draws up the ­bodies of the enemy and hurls them back at their allies. The one who will not rest until the realm of death is scoured clean of false life. The Undying King, who leads the nine hundred and ninety-nine legions to war.’ She grinned. ‘He who walks in every man’s shadow and wades in every man’s blood.’

  Volker felt a chill at her words. Nagash’s name was a curse among the armies of Azyr. Death itself was, if not a friend, then a familiar acquaintance. But the Master of Death was a terror beyond conception. A hungry shadow on a cave wall, stretching black fingers ever closer to those who huddled by the fire. Even the Ruinous Powers, horrifying as they were, were not so terrible as the entity known on the Amber Steppes as the Patient Hunter. And yet, what better ally against the nightmare forces that waited beyond the fire’s light? Match terror against terror, and see which proved the stronger.

  Volker acknowledged the pragmatism of the thing, even as his soul shrank from it. It was akin to loosing a volley into a melee – the risk to your own men was weighed against potential harm to the enemy. That risk was often the thin line between victory and defeat.

  Adhema smiled. ‘You understand.’ It was not a question.

  Volker nodded. ‘Somewhat.’ He paused. Then, ‘Why did you help me?’

  ‘Perhaps it pleased me to do so,’ Adhema said. She leaned back against the rail. ‘Perhaps I simply seized the moment for what it was – an opportunity.’

  ‘That’s oddly comforting.’ Volker sighted down the length of his rifle. ‘I’m not a fool, you know. I doubt there’s a drop of mortal compassion in you. But you’re honest, at least. That I can respect.’

  Adhema chuckled. ‘Blunt.’

  ‘I’ve never been a very good liar.’ He set his weapon down. ‘Never seen a reason to learn. Lies are shoddy things, built on sand.’

  ‘You sound like a duardin.’

  Volker smiled. ‘Don’t let them hear you say that.’ He looked at her. ‘You have my thanks, regardless of your reasons. Our quest might have been over before it began if you hadn’t intervened.’

  ‘So I gathered.’ Adhema knocked on the rail with her knuckles. ‘You’re not here for the weapons, though, I think. So why?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘Ah. Friends. I remember those. More trouble than they were worth, in my experience.’ She shook her head. ‘I have sisters instead.’

  ‘Is that different?’

  ‘Oh, vastly. Better and worse.’ Adhema stared out into the dark. ‘Sisters of blood, rather than flesh, but sisters all the same. We know each other better than we ought, my sisters and I.’

  Volker joined her, watching the distant stars. ‘Perhaps there’s something to be said for that. My own family – well. We don’t understand each other at all.’

  ‘Small mercies.’ Adhema straightened. ‘Curious…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The smell of your blood. There’s a tang to it – a sharpness that puts one in mind of clean water and high peaks. Makes my teeth ache to contemplate it.’

  Suddenly, Volker was very aware of her proximity. She smelled of something sickly-sweet, and this close, he could see the faint black veins running beneath her pale flesh. He was reminded that she was not human, and had not been so for many years, by her own admission. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to remain calm. ‘Don’t, then. I’d prefer my blood to stay where it is, frankly.’

  ‘It’s hard, though. If I lose control, I feed the beast within. Some days, I want nothing more than to shed my skin, and the last memory of what I was.’ Her smile was ghastly. ‘It would be easier that way. To be a beast, only concerned about the next meal. But I did not become what I am to forget. Nor to forgive.’ She traced her fingers through the wispy trails of aether-gold that swirled just past the rail. ‘Does that make me a monster?’

  ‘Yes,’ Volker said. ‘But what sort of monster you are is up to you.’ He lifted his rifle and braced the stock against his hip. ‘With this rifle, I have taken more lives than I can count. Enemy lives, mostly. I reaped them, one at a time. I watched them first, though. Knew them, if only briefly. And then killed them.’ He smiled, sadly. On bad nights, he saw some of their faces in his dreams – the freeguilder, caught by bloodreavers, begging for a merciful death before the savages began their feast; the old war-chief, leading his folk into a desperate charge against the metal monsters of the Ironweld, his only crime a refusal to bow to the highborn of Azyr; the proud queen, high on her palan­quin, refusing to submit before the will of Sigmar’s chosen, when they came demanding she cast down her people’s idols.

  He saw their faces, and screamed inside himself, until his mind shook itself calm. Or worse, he stayed awake, and wondered about the necessity of it all, and whether justice was a hard truth… or simply a fiction, invented by the gods to explain their whims. He looked at her. ‘Is it better or worse to kill a foe who doesn’t see it coming? A ­barbarian chieftain, carousing with his kin. A beastman, lapping at a pool. An orruk, dancing to the beat of tribal drums. They never heard the shot that killed them. They never saw the destruction that came after.’

  ‘Where I come from, that’d be considered a mercy. My queen – and the one she serves – prefers it when the enemy fully understands the folly of their resistance. Death cannot be defeated, only postponed.’ Adhema brushed a lock of hair out of her face. ‘Even your thunder-god knows that.’

  Volker touched his amulet. Before he could reply, he heard Nyoka say, ‘Death is but one part of life, beneath the belly of heaven.’

  He turned. The priestess inclined her head to him in greeting, and then studied Adhema. The vampire straightened. ‘Come to check on us, priestess
? Come to see that I have not beguiled him with my deathly charms?’

  Nyoka chuckled. ‘I do not think you are the sort to beguile a man, sister. You reek of predatory intent, and even the dullest wit cannot help but see it writ upon your face.’

  Adhema frowned, but only for an instant. Then her smile returned. ‘I’d be insulted, if I didn’t know that you spoke the truth.’

  ‘Lies serve no purpose in the world.’ Nyoka had her hammer, though she held it only loosely. She swung it gently. A reminder, not a warning. ‘There are some who say that vampires are lies made flesh. I do not think this, for I think that death loves lies no more than Sahg’mahr.’

  ‘Death is the final truth,’ Adhema said.

  The two faced each other. Volker looked back and forth between them. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Did you want something, Nyoka?’

  Nyoka beamed at him. ‘Zana asked me to tell you that Lugash has deciphered the rest of the bead book.’ The fyreslayer had proven to have a remarkable memory, and they’d spent most of the trip attempting to align what he’d read, with what little was known of Gorch. Nyoka’s contribution had been the most helpful, for she’d managed to liberate several maps, among other things, from her order. ‘There is a fortress, at the forest’s heart. A great tree, hollowed out to make a citadel.’

  ‘That makes a certain sort of sense,’ Volker said, dubiously.

  Adhema gave a bark of laughter. ‘Only a man like you would think so.’

  Before he could reply, he heard a shrill whistle from the aft deck of the Zank. The crew began to shout to one another as some raced below. Volker made his way towards the rear of the vessel, wondering what the lookout had seen. A narrow plank extended from the aft deck, connected to the aether-endrins and the hull by steel guy-wires. At the end of the plank was a small cupola, in which a crewman could sit and watch the skies. At the moment, said crewman was hurriedly making his way back to the deck, using the guy-wires for support. He was pointing behind him and shouting as he came, but the wind whipped away his words.

  Adhema hissed. Volker glanced at her, and then at the thick wake of clouds behind the Zank. An ocean of purples and blues, rolling in the black sky. And something else. Something was moving beneath the clouds at speed, and as he watched, something like the peak of a black mountain pierced the surface. It rose, accompanied by an omnipresent rumble, higher and higher, until it sliced through the clouds in its pursuit.

  Volker stared at it for a moment, until he realised what it was. Not a mountain peak, but the top of an enormous dorsal fin. His heart sank.

  Out in the dark, the Great King roared.

  ‘I knew it!’

  Brondt stalked across the deck, Zana and the others following him. The Kharadron lit a cheroot and grinned at the nearing shape. ‘I knew it. I knew that bastard wasn’t done with us.’ He snatched up a speaking-tube hanging near the rail. ‘All hands to stations. Man the belaying valves. The Great King has returned – and I intend to give him a welcome he’ll never forget!’

  The Great King roared, and the sky shook. Clouds parted and the stars shivered in the firmament. Or so it felt to Yuhdak, as he drew back on the reins of his sorcerous energy. Vast hooks of crackling magic dug tight into the immense megalofin’s flesh, spilling gallons of ichor across the sky. The leviathan roared again, but turned at last, goaded by the pain. Even so, Yuhdak did not celebrate. A single moment of distraction would be enough to see him flung from the titanic creature’s back.

  He stood atop its skull, legs braced, held in place by his magic. His robes flapped in the wind, and the facets of his armour were frosted over. Only his sorcery kept the breath from freezing in his lungs at this altitude. He could see the soft glow of his quarry in the distance – the airship carrying the servants of the Crippled God. The Great King roared again, a vast exhalation of intent. The beast would have the scent of the aether-gold soon. And when it did, it would plunge forwards, eager to have its prey between its teeth. As Fate willed.

  Ravens perched on his shoulders or high above on the rocky aether barnacles that studded the beast’s hide like small mountain ranges. They croaked out helpful suggestions as Yuhdak fought to keep the Great King aimed in the right direction. The endless hunger that swamped the beast’s mind crashed against his mental defences, threatening to overwhelm him. ‘Quiet please, friends,’ Yuhdak hissed. ‘This is difficult enough, without your well-intentioned contributions.’

  The Kharadron airship crossed the horizon, heading south. Heading for the great spider-haunted forest of Gorch. He glanced at the leader of the flock. Unlike her followers, she was human, for the moment. She stood behind him, perfectly at ease despite the pull of the wind, and the instability of her perch. ‘You are certain that is where they are heading?’

  She stared at him, unblinking. He sighed. ‘Yes, of course. Forgive me. I merely wished to be sure, before we disposed of them. It’s getting harder to control our – ah! He’s caught the scent.’ The sorcerous chains flared to blinding radiance as the Great King suddenly surged forwards with a bone-rattling rumble. Yuhdak let the beast have its head. The chains and hooks dissipated and he stumbled back, shaking slightly.

  She reached out to steady him, her black eyes studying him. ‘You are ill.’

  ‘Tired. Merely tired. It’s like trying to control a storm.’ He waved her back. ‘Time to go, I think. The Great Fortress-Tree awaits.’

  But even as he said it, the air burst wide with fire. The Great King bucked and roared as explosions peppered its hide. Yuhdak turned as much as he dared, a curse on his lips. He’d forgotten the first rule of dealing with the cloud-dwellers – never trust your first glance.

  Bulbous shapes hummed out of the clouds, rising and falling like the jaws of a trap. Kharadron gunships, and at least a dozen. He’d seen them before, at a distance, during the blockade of Barak-Zon. The two-seater vessels were quick, and deadly in packs.

  ‘They were ready for us.’ The leader of the flock looked at him.

  ‘Or for the Great King,’ Yuhdak said. Angered, he loosed a pulse of sorcerous energy into the beast’s brain. The megalofin shuddered as its blood burned with new strength. It lunged forwards, fins scraping the sky. ‘They want a fight – fine. A fight they’ll get.’ He turned to the leader of the flock. ‘Go. Remind the duardin what it means to confront the servants of Fate.’

  She nodded and leapt into the air, her form twisting and shrinking. The Ninety-Nine Feathers took to the sky as one, and the whole flock swooped towards the approaching vessels. They would serve well enough as a distraction until he could destroy the Crippled God’s emissaries. Then, perhaps, he would turn upon the gunships and let the Great King devour them as well.

  Yuhdak crouched, drawing deeply from his reservoirs of strength. He would need every iota of power at his disposal to control the beast, and keep it from turning on the approaching vessels. Lashing cerulean and cerise chains, topped by cruel barbs, sprouted from the air about him and sank into the Great King’s flesh. He had hoped to leave things up to fate. But sometimes a more direct approach was called for.

  ‘Come then, my friend – let us hunt together.’

  Fourteen

  Duel

  ‘Ha-ha! Pepper that meat!’ Brondt pounded on the rail as the night was lit by explosions. ‘Worth every bloody coin, those lads. Look at them – the pride of the Grundcorps!’ His crew seemed in similar good spirits. They cheered as the tiny shapes swooped about the megalofin and spat fire.

  The massive beast rolled through the clouds, banking to escape the throng of vessels that had suddenly attacked it. Zana laughed. ‘Gunhaulers. Look at them swarm that beast.’ She grinned. ‘You weren’t just warning the other captains, you sold salvage rights to the bloody Grundstok Company, didn’t you, Brondt?’

  Brondt returned her grin. ‘Let’s see that oaf Brokrin think of that! The Great King is big enough that
we’ll all get a share – of bounty and glory both. The Grundcorps have been looking to put paid to his debts for some time – they just needed the proper bait.’

  ‘Willing, you mean,’ Volker said, grasping the captain’s meaning. He felt a flush of anger, but quickly throttled it. There was a certain brutal pragmatism to the Kharadron’s plan, and he couldn’t help but respect it.

  Brondt peered at him. ‘Aye. Two nuggets with one swing, as the saying goes.’ He laughed and clapped Volker on the arm. ‘Don’t frown so, Azyrite. This is a glorious day – the day the skies were made safe for all honest – oh bugger.’

  The explosion lit up the sky. One of the gunhaulers burst into weirdly coloured flames and plummeted from above with a shriek of abused metal. Brondt gripped the rail, all good cheer stripped from his face. ‘Sorcery,’ he growled. ‘Kruk!’ He struck the rail with a fist. ‘I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it.’ He turned on Zana. ‘What have you got me into, woman?’

  ‘How is this my fault?’ she protested.

  ‘They’re going to want hazard pay for this! Not to mention the bloody Thunderers taking up precious space in my lower holds.’

  ‘Not if they all die,’ Adhema said mildly. She peered into the dark. ‘Which seems fairly likely, given that flock of ravens now attacking them.’

  ‘Ravens?’ Volker shoved past Brondt and flipped down his range finder. He clicked through the lenses until he found the right one. The distant image leapt into stark focus. He saw several birds swarm a gunhauler, pecking and clawing at the pilot and gunner with an improbable ferocity. He cursed, and turned to the others. ‘It’s the same ones from the library. The shapechangers. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘The what now?’ Brondt looked from Volker to Zana. ‘Forget to mention that, did you, woman? That’s something I ought to know about, don’t you think?’

  ‘First rule of business, Brondt – always ask questions before signing the contract,’ Zana said. She looked past him. ‘Looks like they’re running interference for the brute.’ She frowned. ‘But why?’