Champion of the Gods

Chapter thirty-three

King Augus tossed the helmeted corpse head aside and turned to me with a look of aquiline satisfaction.

‘No!’ I cried again.

The word caused me so much pain that at first I didn’t recognise it as mine. It was a bladed imprecation that someone had pushed into my chest to the crosspiece and twisted. But it was just the broken end of my rib pushing into my lung. A trifling hurt, in comparison. On hands and knees, drawing my halberd through the rubble as if it were a paddle, I crawled towards Ikrit’s headless body, the co-vessel for my storm-forged soul. Ignoring Augus’ increasingly irate caws, I took Ikrit by the shoulder and shook him.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

‘No, no, no.’ I glared hotly at the aetar. ‘No!’

Augus lowered his head towards me and delivered an ear-destroying shriek.

‘You think I’ll let that insult pass?’ With the strength in my arms I pushed against my halberd to position my body upright until I was, on my knees, almost level with Augus’ breast. Pain flared in mine. The aetar swirled in my vision like cream poured into qahua. ‘You stole prey from the Bear-Eater. Do you think me so far gone that I won’t pluck every feather from your body before I spit you on my spear?’

As bluster went, this was a desperate attempt. Even hugging myself to my halberd like a tent around a pole, I swayed on my knees. I didn’t care. With Ikrit destroyed, his soul blasted into whatever aether awaited the souls of pariahs to the skaven race, the Smiths would never be able to undo what he had done.

What he had done to me.

I would never again be whole.

Augus was a proud king, but not so humane that he would not rip the head from a wounded foe, as I had just learned to my eternal cost. At least it would be quick. It would be bloody and honest. Better that than the slow dissolution of the soul that awaited me now.

‘Come on, Augus, why do you hesitate? Are you afraid?’

The aetar bristled, baring his gnarled and blood-stained beak.

A nearby voice interrupted. ‘Peace, Augus. Can you not see he is out of his wits?’

Lord-Veritant Vikaeus of the Creed crunched onto the rubble-strewn ground. Her sword was bloody, her plate battered. Her staff shone with a cold light that stung tears from my eyes. It was as though my body acted out of its own self-interest, for on top of every­thing else it had endured it knew that the sight of her, unblurred, would have broken me then. A pair of Concussors walked behind her, both as well-blooded as the Lord-Veritant herself. One was on foot. The other struggled through the wreckage on a rancorous, ice-blue Dracoth. Augus swivelled his head to glare at them, beating his wings threateningly to warn the Knights Merciless from his prize.

I, however, spread my arms and bowed my head, as though offering my neck as a gift.

‘The sun rises. The rule of the Day Queen comes,’ I said, speaking with bitterness the words that I could recall her once speaking to me when we had been mortal.

She looked at me quizzically. Her eyes unfocused, just for a moment. ‘What did you say?’

‘I am usurped,’ I said, continuing. ‘Come, take what is yours.’

Shaking off whatever moment had taken her, she gestured to the Concussors. ‘Seize him.’ Augus delivered a terrific screech as the warrior on foot passed close. He backed off, warily, hands raised. Vikaeus turned her staff towards the aetar. ‘I have no interest in your verminous prize, Augus. I am here for Hamilcar alone.’

Augus shuffled back, cawing, dragging the warlock with him, leaving a smear of hissing green oil on the rubble behind it.

‘Wait,’ said the mounted Concussor who had held back by the Bear Road. ‘What is happening to the warlock?’

Ikrit’s body was starting to dissolve, his armour buckling as green bubbles foamed from the seams.

‘Sigendil’s light,’ I swore, as the corpse began to buck and twitch under Augus’ foot.

‘Stay back, Lord-Veritant,’ said the other, drawing Vikaeus towards him by the elbow.

Vikaeus turned to address me. ‘Is this more foolery of yours, Hamilcar?’

I didn’t answer.

I was as captivated as they were.

A bang sounded from behind us, like popping corn, and we all jumped. Augus took to the air, alarmed. Vikaeus turned instinctively towards the Bear Road, the Concussors closing around her with lightning hammers raised. The battle for the Seven Words had been won, thanks to me, but it was far from over, and the Paladins were right to fear a skaven bullet aimed at their Lord-Veritant. This time, however, it was something less prosaic, but no less trying on the heart. It was Ikrit’s head, jumping about in the rubble where Augus had discarded it. The flesh, bone and metal seemed to be dissolving into a volatile mix of sickly gases and energy, leapfrogging the pulverised foundation slabs every time a belch of the former was released.

Vikaeus pushed aside her warrior’s lightning hammer for a clearer look.

‘What witchcraft is this?’

Augus settled onto an adjoining rooftop and shrieked down on us all.

Ikrit’s remains disintegrated into lightning, flares of poisonous green energy originating from his head and his body before crackling together above our heads. It was like an implosion, but of light rather than sound or energy, drawing it in and turning the realm around me dark. Combined into a single bolt, the lightning cut its chaotic path across the sky. I squinted, trying to follow its arcing course to whatever star marked its destination. I had a fair idea where it was going. A certain dark burrow with a Magrittan chaise and a strewn pile of ancient parchments, hurtling through the Allpoints towards realms unknown.

It didn’t help me very much, but even so I found myself smiling.

Ikrit had done it. He had done it. This was news of the darkest sort for Sigmar and the integrity of the Stormhosts, and the grimmest of tidings for the grand alliance of Order in general, but I smiled like a boy who had been given a sweet to assuage his hurts.

‘It’s not over,’ I said.

‘How…?’ murmured Vikaeus. She stared up, transfixed, troubled to the ice-cold cavity of her chest. ‘Where has he gone? Surely not the soul-mills of the Forge Eternal?’

‘I mean to find out, Vikaelia,’ I said.

‘What? No. Enough of this.’

Stepping between her warriors, Vikaeus brought the butt of her staff crashing to the ground. The leaves of ice that enclosed the abjuration lantern at its crown fell aside and heavenly light blazed forth. It spilled over the two Concussors and the Dracoth, brought a pained squawk from Augus, and would have rendered me immediately chastened and helpless had something gigantic not cast its wing shadow over me at just that moment.

Princess Aeygar Ayr Augus announced herself with an ebullient screech, spreading her wings to shield me from the Lord-Veritant’s light as she scooped me effortlessly from the ground in one talon. She had timed her descent with the grace of a born hunter, and a single beat of her wings was enough to convey her back into the sky without ever setting a claw on the ground. I made a noise that fell somewhere between a cry of delight and a scream as the ground fell away from me, my broken ribs grinding into me in the aetar’s grip, and the Lord-Veritant’s abjuration grew increasingly distant and dim. Before I had a chance to adjust to the change in scenery, I found myself hanging in the midst of the battle for the skies of the Seven Words. Aetar knights swooped and soared, slowing only to savage what remained of the Skyre clan ruinfleet.

‘Forgive my tardiness, lord.’

Nassam sat high on the princess’ neck, his dark beard and moustaches flying in the seven winds. His Jerech greatsword was sheathed across his back, the better to cling onto Aeygar’s plumage.

Princess Aeygar gave a concerned squawk.

‘I’ve suffered worse than this and walked away to tell the tale.’

She beat her wings, eyes sparkling. The feathers of her neck ruffled against her blued armour, a bass cooing coming from deep in her throat.

‘I don’t know what to say. If you’re sure you don’t mind having me for company for a while.’ Freeing one arm from Aeygar’s talons, I pointed weakly towards the now-distant speck of light that marked Ikrit’s passage.

‘Follow that lightning.’

With a joyful shriek, the aetar dipped her wings, and turned away from the Gorkomon.