Ghoulslayer

Chapter Thirty-One The Cerement Stone

The prince was not wearing his helmet, and as he turned to face Gotrek, his eyes creased into a slight smile.

‘You made it.’ He ignored the confused-looking priests and walked over to the Slayer. ‘I hoped you would, but the odds were long. You are a unique individual, Gotrek Gurnisson. A rare find.’

Lhosia was staring at the dark cocoons on the walls, looking increasingly more outraged. ‘What are you doing, Morn-Prince? Why did you alter the rite?’

‘You hoped I would make it?’ said Gotrek. ‘What are you talking about?’

Volant watched Gotrek with glazed, lifeless eyes. He looked like he was intoxicated. ‘You hold the gods in the contempt they deserve.’ He waved a dismissive hand at everyone else on the platform. ‘When you said you had come to bring your fury down on Nagash, it made my heart sing, Gotrek. We are of a similar mind, you and I. And you have done great work, bringing these souls here.’ He pointed at the small patch of darkness hanging in the centre of the moths. ‘I could never have managed this without you.’

Lhosia and the other Erebid stared at the prince, mystified, as he continued.

‘This offering guarantees the future of the Erebid.’

Gotrek shook his head. ‘Offering?’

Volant looked sadly at Lhosia. ‘We’ve kept our ancestors hidden for all these centuries. But now we are undone. The Lord of Undeath has harnessed a power beyond anything he has wielded before. We can no longer just cling to our prayers and hope to outrun the tide.’

‘What have you done?’ asked Lhosia quietly.

‘I have gathered hundreds of divine souls,’ said Volant, glancing at the dark shape in the centre of the moths. ‘Souls that have eluded Nagash for centuries.’

Lord Aurun glared at the Morn-Prince, gripping his scythe with such fury that his arms were shaking.

Maleneth looked at where Volant had been kneeling and saw a shimmer of purple in the ball of moths. It was a gemstone, faceted and dark.

‘Do you mean that the Cerement Stone will preserve the Unburied?’ said Lhosia.

Prince Volant shook his head, suddenly seeming tired. He massaged his scalp as he paced across the dais, distorting the intricate tattoos on his face. ‘Nothing preserves life except power. I see that now. For a long time I thought there might be another way, but now I see that the only way to gain freedom from the gods is to buy it. Prayers, devotions, ancestor worship… It’s all meaningless. But offerings win the favour of any god. And thanks to this duardin, the Cerement Stone has captured more souls than I could ever have hoped. And now it will send them to Nagash.’

‘Nagash?’ gasped Lhosia, glancing over at Lord Aurun, her face drained of colour.

‘Seize him!’ howled Lord Aurun, pointing his scythe at the sorcerer. ‘He’s a traitor!’

Aurun and the Gravesward rushed forwards, weapons raised, but Prince Volant shook his head despairingly at them. Just as they were about to reach him, he lashed out with his scythe, slicing through armour and hurling his attackers across the dais.

The knights stumbled and fell, clutching their throats and chests. There was a loud clattering as scythes and shields bounced across the floor.

Aurun leapt to his feet and attacked again, but Volant clubbed him down, towering over the knight and pummelling him with the haft of his scythe.

The prince looked around at the gasping knights, then nodded and addressed Gotrek again.

‘This tower is linked to Nagash’s own citadel, and I have now linked it to the Cerement Stone as well. I have all the souls I need to complete the ritual – I can now do as I promised and send you with them. You can finally confront your past.’

‘What?’ Gotrek shook his head. ‘Why? Why would you send your ancestors to Nagash? After everything you people said about your forebears.’

The prince’s expression darkened. ‘Morbium is gone!’ He waved dismissively at Lord Aurun. ‘No one else here has the sense to see it, but I realised the truth weeks ago. Months ago. And I have been living with it ever since, knowing that everything we have worked for all these centuries has come to nothing. Knowing that every one of the prominents will sink beneath the Eventide. It shamed me, Gotrek Gurnisson!’ His voice cracked. ‘I was going to be the one Morn-Prince who failed to preserve his bloodline. The one ruler of Morbium who let memories be lost! The Great Necromancer was going to take everything! Every trace of our past.

‘At first I thought there might be a way to find an offering outside Morbium. I employed shrivers to scour the princedoms, looking for a gift that would be fit for a god – some way to buy our safety. But it was hopeless. What single individual would satisfy Nagash? I needed more. Only the Unburied would appease the Great Necromancer. These souls that have eluded him for so long.’

‘Kurin?’ laughed Maleneth. ‘He was working for you?’ She looked triumphantly at Gotrek. ‘I told you that conjuror in Klemp was a fraud. He was fishing for victims to send to Nagash. I bet he was delighted when he heard you say you wanted to go to him!’

Gotrek glared at her, but Volant did not hear Maleneth’s words, too intent on justifying his actions to the Slayer.

‘Once the rite is complete,’ he continued, ‘Nagash will take owner­ship of the Unburied. The Cerement Stone will send every one of them to him. The Lingering Keep will sink beneath the waves like all the other prominents, and every soul will go to the necro­mancer. Then I will be–’

‘Nagash’s servant,’ said Gotrek, his lip curling in disgust.

‘I serve no one!’ snapped Volant, finally losing his veneer of calm. All around the dais, the Gravesward were clambering to their feet, clutching wounds, but the prince ignored them.

‘For now,’ he said, his voice still taut, ‘Nagash has the upper hand. But let a few centuries pass, and Sigmar will hold sway, or maybe some other god that has yet to emerge from the aether-void. Who knows? What matters is that as the gods rise and fall, the bloodline of the Morn-Princes will endure. With the souls of the Unburied I have bought myself safe passage. I have bought a chance for at least one of the Erebid to escape the Nadir. I will survive, and begin again.’

Lhosia hissed a curse and moved to attack, but her acolytes held her back as Volant raised his scythe, saving her from being cut down.

Gotrek looked thoughtfully at the struggling figures on the dais, considering the prince’s words. ‘If you’re sending these souls to Nagash to buy yourself peace, why would you send me? I’m not after peace. I’m not some willing victim. I came for vengeance.’

Volant shrugged. ‘And I believe you might find it.’ He peered down at Gotrek. ‘Your soul has been altered. You are more than mortal but better than a god.’ He shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you are, but perhaps you will destroy Nagash. Perhaps that is why you were brought to these realms – to end all these schisms and power plays. I’m sending these souls to buy freedom from tyranny, but if you destroy Nagash, there will be no tyranny.’

‘And if I fail to destroy him?’

‘Then I have presented the arch-necromancer with an even greater present than I promised. Your soul would be the jewel in his crown. What matters is that I will be far away, taking my bloodline beyond the reach of arrogant, self-absorbed gods.’

Trachos unclasped his hammers from his belt and tensed, ready to attack, but then paused and looked at Gotrek, as if waiting to see how the Slayer would respond.

Is Gotrek our leader now? wondered Maleneth. Is that what we have come to? The idea appalled her. Do we just follow him whatever he decides to do? She was struggling to understand why, but both she and Trachos seemed to be in Gotrek’s thrall.

Strike him down then! Stick a knife in that fat neck. Try another poison.

Maleneth shook her head. There was such a powerful, momentous feeling in the air that she could not bear the idea of ending this scene before it had been played out. She had to know what would become of the Slayer. And of the Erebid.

‘People have been promising they’ll get me to Nagash since I arrived in this wretched hole,’ snarled Gotrek. ‘So far it’s come to nothing.’

Volant waved Gotrek over to the cloud of moths and pointed to the gem at its centre. ‘Place your hand on the Cerement Stone. I am about to finish the ritual – the stone will send you to Nagashizzar. You will see Nagash today. Have your vengeance, Gotrek, or answers, or whatever it is you seek.’

Gotrek stepped closer, reaching out to touch the stone.

‘Gotrek!’ cried Trachos, finally breaking his silence. ‘This man is a–’

Volant whispered and amethyst light leapt from the stone, blazing around his scythe. ‘This stone is part of me!’ he shouted. ‘I’m bound to it, and it to me.’ He swung the blade, hurling purple flame. ‘Together, we are invincible!’

Trachos staggered, clutching his gorget, bathed in light. He dropped to his knees with a clang, sparks tumbling down his chest. As he struggled, the purple lights grew brighter, eating into his armour, causing him to convulse and kick.

Maleneth shook her head. For a long time she would have gladly watched the Stormcast Eternal die, but not at the hands of this pompous prince. There was nothing she hated more than someone who lied better than she did.

‘Gotrek,’ she said, but before she could get any more words out, Volant lashed out again, hurling more light. Pain knifed into her throat, and she dropped to the floor beside Trachos, unable to breathe.

Gotrek glanced back at her, his expression blank. As she clawed at her throat, feeling the strength drain from her limbs, the Slayer studied Prince Volant. For what seemed like an age, Gotrek looked from Volant to the stone and the people dying on the dais.

‘I have been in these realms for months,’ he said finally. ‘And I had given up hope of finding anyone who thinks like me.’

Maleneth felt a rush of hopelessness as Gotrek placed his hand on Volant’s shoulder. ‘And now, in this lightless pit, I see that I was wrong to despair. Not everyone in these realms is as stupid as I thought.’

Maleneth’s vision grew dark as her oxygen-starved brain lost hold on reality. She pictured scenes from her past, from the Khainite Murder Temples where she had learned to pray through violence, and the halls of the Azyrite scholars, where she had first understood the power of Sigmar’s Stormhosts. The scenes merged and coalesced as her consciousness slipped away.

Gotrek smiled at Prince Volant.

Then he smashed the Cerement Stone with his axe, hurling crimson shards through the air.

Volant roared and reeled across the platform, clutching his face.

Moths whirled around Gotrek’s axe, flashing against the fyresteel.

The walls lit up as the cocoons pulsed back into life.

Maleneth managed to gasp a choking breath as the flames dropped away from her.

With fragments of the Cerement Stone still tinkling across the floor, Gotrek strolled after the howling prince.

‘I thought these realms were blind to the things that really matter,’ he said, ‘but the people of Morbium have proved me wrong. They value tradition. They respect their ancestors. They record every detail of their past. They believe in something. They believe hard enough to fight and to die for it.’

Lhosia, Trachos and the others were still gasping for breath and trying to sit as Gotrek reached Volant and pointed his axe at him. ‘And they deserve better than to be betrayed by their own lord.’ He glanced at Maleneth. ‘I was wrong. Whatever I’ve lost, there are still things worth fighting for. Even here.’

Volant had fallen to his knees, and cracks had spread over his face. He looked like he was about to be sick. ‘I placed all of my power in that stone.’ His voice was a strangled hiss. He glared at Gotrek. ‘You will rue the day you–’

His words were cut off, along with his head, as Lhosia’s scythe slammed through his throat.