Ghoulslayer

Chapter Eighteen The Spindrift

Maleneth’s breath exploded from her lungs as she landed, hard, on the floor. As she lay there, dazed and breathless, blinded by dazzling light, a great roaring came from somewhere and the ground started to shudder.

‘Gotrek!’ she gasped, her throat full of ash.

You’ve killed him! Finally!

Maleneth’s skull was pounding where it had hit the floor, and nausea rushed through her as she stood, swaying, surrounded by coruscating light.

‘Nice work, aelf,’ boomed Gotrek, staggering through the glare. ‘If in doubt, blow it up. Always a good plan.’

She tried to speak, to explain herself, but her breath was still trapped painfully in her lungs.

Gotrek’s bludgeoning tone told her that he was himself once more. Whatever transformation had been threatening to overcome him had ceased. He was the hog again. He laughed. ‘Did you attack me?’

‘The cocoons,’ she said, taking a deep, juddering breath. ‘The power of the Master Rune. You sent it into the machines.’

He shook his head, looking at her as though she were insane. Then he laughed. ‘By Grungni. Only an aelf could be so devious. If that’s worked, I’ll buy you a barrel of Bugman’s.’

He hauled her across the hall, carving a path through the dazed ghouls until the light dimmed and they saw the effects of the blast.

The explosion had given the Gravesward a chance to regroup around their prince. There were more of them left than Maleneth had guessed, and they had locked their shields back together, forming a circular wall that bristled with scythes. Trachos was there too. His armour was even more damaged than the last time she had seen him, but he was still standing, staring up at the ceiling.

Maleneth followed his gaze and laughed. ‘It worked!’

The pulleys and chains that held the Unburied were jolting and unfolding like spider legs, snapping and clicking as they lowered the cocoons.

‘Gravesward, advance!’ cried Lord Aurun, leading the knights forwards. ‘Keep the mordants from the Unburied.’

As Maleneth’s eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that the blast had torn through the ghouls. Her own body was unharmed, as were the Gravesward, but the aether-fire had devastated the mordants, burning flesh from their limbs and leaving most of them lying broken and smouldering.

‘The aether-fire,’ she muttered. ‘It burned through them.’

The Gravesward crashed into the wounded revenants, avenging the brothers they had lost on the walls. The slaughter that followed was quiet but brutal. The hall rang to the sound of scythes cutting through meat and bone.

The far side of the building had almost entirely collapsed, its facade scattered across the square outside, and the giant ghoul was towering over the rubble, shielding its eyes from the blaze.

‘Get the corpse eggs,’ shouted Gotrek, running across the hall. ‘I’ll deal with Tiny.’

Maleneth whirled around and sprinted back towards Trachos. His neck armour was damaged and something was happening to the burnished sigmarite – it was pulsing with inner light, as though there were flames moving beneath its surface.

Lhosia was beside him, staring up at the unfurling machines with a rapt expression on her face. ‘It’s a miracle,’ she whispered, looking from the ceiling to Trachos.

‘It’s engineering.’ There was no pain in his voice. If anything, Mal­eneth thought, his tone seemed lighter than usual. He sounded almost pleased.

Prince Volant rode over to them, his enormous steed moving in a swaying, drunken gait similar to the wretches that had wounded it. The prince stared over the heads of his men, to the doors at the far side of the hall, where Gotrek was running towards the giant.

‘What is he?’ It was hard to tell if Volant was impressed or disgusted.

‘Demented,’ snapped Maleneth. ‘Anyway, I was the one who had the idea to–’

‘Look!’ cried Lhosia.

The columns had reached the floor of the chamber, and at the base of each was a cocoon, lying safely on the debris-strewn floor.

‘Quickly!’ Prince Volant waved his honour guard towards them. ‘Gather up the Unburied. That was only a fraction of the mordants. More could arrive at any moment.’

Rune-light was still shimmering through the columns, and the knights became silhouettes as they lifted the cocoons from their cradles.

Another shudder rocked through the hall, causing them all to stagger.

Maleneth wondered if the whole place was coming down, then realised that the noise had come from outside. The giant ghoul had fallen backwards across the square and toppled into the buildings opposite, smashing walls and sending up clouds of dust. The Slayer was just visible, like a dazzling ember on its chest, roaring as he hacked repeatedly with his axe.

Prince Volant shook his head as his men brought the cocoons towards him. ‘Leave the hall. Make for the East Gate. We’ll see if that wynd is still clear.’

‘No!’ said Lhosia. ‘They’ll be on us before we get half a mile.’ She waved at the cocoons. ‘Think how slow we’ll be carrying those.’

‘What do you suggest?’ snapped Volant. ‘Waiting in here for the next attack? We will be–’

He had to pause as, outside in the square, the giant fell through another building, rune-light flashing across its skull as Gotrek attacked its face.

‘Use that,’ said Trachos, nodding to the back of the hall, towards a looming, shell-like curve that reached almost as high as the ceiling.

Maleneth shook her head. ‘What?’

‘The aether-ship,’ replied Trachos.

‘The Spindrift?’ said Lhosia. ‘Do you think you could revive it the same way as the other machines?’

Trachos shrugged. ‘Why not? Duardin engineering is built to last. It’s probably just inert.’

Prince Volant shook his head. ‘The forefathers used obscure techniques – the rune-science of the Kharadron.’

Trachos nodded. ‘They used aether-gold.’ He peered at the vessel. ‘Is it likely to have been plundered?’

Lhosia looked appalled by the suggestion, and Volant shook his head. ‘We revere the past. Our relics are sacred to us.’

Trachos nodded and limped off to the back of the hall.

Maleneth rushed after him. He had taken out his sceptre and clicked a new device to its head. It looked like a square goblet, formed of wire mesh and studded with gems.

The aether-ship was in the one part of the hall not illuminated by the light of the Unburied – a gloomy, barrel-vaulted recess like the undercroft of a cathedral. The half-visible leviathan loomed from the shadows like a promontory on a stretch of coast.

The mesh at the end of Trachos’ sceptre blazed into life, spilling fingers of cool blue light.

‘Khaine,’ whispered Maleneth as the light washed over the prow. The figurehead was in the shape of a fierce, howling face, with a long, stylised beard and a thunderous brow. The face was as large as a house, and as Trachos’ light glinted across the tarnished metal, it seemed to glower and snarl.

‘It looks like him,’ said Maleneth.

Trachos glanced back at her. ‘Who?’

‘The hog. Gotrek.’

Trachos nodded. ‘Whatever he is now, he was a duardin once. The shipwrights who made this were too.’

He strode over to the hull and climbed onto an iron ladder that led up between the gun ports. A thunderclap of moths exploded from the darkness, thousands of them, alighting from every corner of the ship.

Maleneth shielded her face, and Trachos had to pause until the tumult ceased, then continued climbing. Maleneth wondered at the size of the vessel. She guessed it was fifty feet tall from rudder to gunwale, and she could just make out an armour-plated dome rising from the deck. It looked more like an impregnable fortress than a ship.

The moths had disturbed centuries of dust, and as she stepped onto the deck, Maleneth felt as though she had walked into a sandstorm. She coughed and cursed as she looked around. The vessel was unlike any ship she had ever seen. The deck was built in the shape of an enormous cross. It was actually four decks, arranged like the spokes of a wheel and linked by a circular walkway. The whole thing was like an enormous cog.

With the dust still whirling around her, she stumbled after the hazy silhouette of the Stormcast Eternal. He reached the dome at the intersection of the four decks, the hub of the ‘wheel’, and dropped to one knee, taking another device from his belt. There was a whirr and a click, and just as Maleneth reached him, a circular hatch opened in the deck. It slid aside with a mechanised rattle, and pulses of light shimmered under Trachos, flickering over the ruined plates of his armour.

Without a word, he turned around and climbed down into the darkness. Maleneth hurried after him.

Trachos’ light flashed over a tangled forest of pipes and cogs. The belly of the ship was crammed with machinery, and as it flickered into view, Maleneth was surprised to see how well preserved it was.

‘No rust,’ she said, touching a row of pistons, tracing her finger over the carefully worked metal. Every inch was engraved with runes.

Trachos’ faceplate looked almost as fierce as the ship’s figurehead. The usual impassive gaze of his Stormcast Eternal helmet was rent beyond recognition, and with the light of his sceptre washing over the buckled metal he seemed to leer at her. He turned back to the machines and began working at them.

The light grew brighter, shimmering across cables and turbines, just as it had on the machines outside, then flickered and died.

Trachos took out the pair of callipers he had used at the gatehouse, measuring and twisting the mechanisms. He worked calmly at first, but after a few minutes he grew agitated, muttering curses under his breath.

He clanged the callipers against the pipes and strode across the engine room, examining cables and wiring and tapping gauges.

‘It should be working!’ He wrenched a circular hatch open and prodded the workings inside the case. ‘The aether-gold is still here. There’s no reason for the engines not to fire.’

He halted, spotting something in the forest of pipes and levers. ‘Of course!’ He grabbed it. ‘The conduits have split. There’s no pressure.’

Maleneth stepped closer and saw the two lengths of cable he was holding. Unlike everything else, they had perished and crumbled.

‘Aether-gold is corrosive.’ Trachos dropped the pipes and wiped his gauntlets on his armour. ‘The Kharadron probably replace these conduits regularly to keep them working.’

‘So we can’t fire up the engines?’

‘We’d need some way to channel the aether-gold.’ Trachos stared up at the hatch. ‘It’s not so different from the machines that were holding the Unburied.’

‘So we could use Gotrek’s rune again?’

‘Perhaps. If he’s happy to come down here and let the aether-power blast through him. If he doesn’t mind being used as an engine part.’

Maleneth raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah…’

They stood in silence for a moment, then heard footfalls up on the deck and clambered back up the ladder, weapons readied.

It was Gotrek. He was trembling with battle fury and staring wildly. Rune-light rippled over his skin and his beard, spilling through the gloom. The knights of the Gravesward were behind him, carrying the cocoons onto the deck under the watchful eye of Prince Volant. Lhosia was there too, standing with the prince, and the pair were locked in a whispered debate.

‘Did you kill it?’ asked Maleneth as she rushed towards Gotrek.

‘What?’

‘The giant ghoul.’

He shrugged. ‘He won’t be breaking any more doors, let’s put it that way. Unless someone puts his ugly head on a battering ram.’

‘What do you intend to do?’ asked Prince Volant, looming over Gotrek. ‘You swore to preserve the Unburied, and we are running out of time.’

Gotrek looked at Trachos.

‘The engines are intact,’ said Trachos. ‘And there’s plenty of aether-gold on board. We just need a conduit – a way to channel the power. A powerful piece of ur-gold would do it.’

Gotrek nodded, then realisation dawned in his eye. ‘Me? You want to use me as an engine part?’

‘Your rune is powerful enough to channel the aether-gold.’ Trachos’ voice remained dull and flat. ‘Nothing else could handle it.’

Gotrek tapped the rune. ‘And what would be left of me when the journey was over? How much would be Gotrek and how much would be Grimnir?’

His beard bristled, and he looked so furious that Maleneth backed away, readying herself to dodge his axe.

‘Grungni’s teeth,’ he snarled, scowling at the rune. It was still rippling with energy. The aether-light was spreading from the rune into Gotrek’s veins, pulsing across his chest and revealing the arteries beneath his scarred skin. It looked like rivulets of molten gold passing under his ribs.

‘I refuse to keep doing this,’ said Gotrek, not looking at Maleneth. ‘I did not come all this way to give my soul to the one god who betrayed me more than any other.’

Trachos grabbed one of his massive biceps. ‘There is another way.’

Gotrek glanced up at the Stormcast Eternal in shock. Then he glowered. ‘What way is that? Trot meekly into one of Sigmar’s sparkly towers and prostrate myself before his greatness? Oh, Hammer Lord, let me comb your mighty beard! That sort of thing?’

‘There’s no need to worship him. Your soul is your own. Your faith is your own. The Order of Azyr only needs the power you wield.’

‘And how exactly would you get it out of me? Last time I checked, my ribs weren’t hinged.’

Trachos seemed oblivious to Gotrek’s rage. ‘The power isn’t just in you. It’s part of you. If you harnessed it in Sigmar’s name we could–’

‘In Sigmar’s name?’ Gotrek’s face flushed with anger and the rune pulsed brighter. He slammed against Trachos, about to yell something else, when they were interrupted by the sound of fighting back in the hall.

‘Mordants!’ cried several Gravesward as they ran towards the ship, struggling under the weight of the last few cocoons. ‘Hundreds of them.’

Volant cursed. He knelt down so that he was facing the Slayer. His tone was an awkward mix of outrage and desperation. ‘I could send you to Nagash, Gotrek, son of Gurni, but only if you get my ancestors to the Lingering Keep. And only if we leave right now.’

A growl rumbled up from Gotrek’s chest and he gripped his mohawk, wrenching his hair back and forth as though trying to rip it out. He stared at the shapes rushing through the shadows towards the ship, muttering angrily under his breath. Then he nodded, spat on the deck and climbed down the hatch, waving for Trachos to follow him.

Maleneth shook her head. ‘I never dreamed he’d do it.’ She looked at the cocoons. ‘I suggest you tie those things down.’