Ghoulslayer

Chapter Three The Last of the Hush

Trachos had to stoop to duck under the doorframe, and Gotrek had to turn sideways to fit through the narrow opening. The Slayer had finished the bottle he had bought in the Muffled Drum, and he was now so unsteady on his feet that he ripped half the doorframe away as he entered, trailing splintered wood and alcohol fumes. Kurin quickly barred the broken door, then lit a candle and held it up. The weak light revealed a hovel cluttered with mismatched furniture and the remains of uneaten meals. It was an eight-foot-by-eight-foot square, and there was something absurd about seeing Gotrek and Trachos squeezed into such a small, prosaic space.

‘A smokescreen for the curious,’ said Kurin, waving vaguely at the room.

The noise of fighting grew louder outside, and Kurin shook his head. ‘We will have to be quick.’ He took out a key and unlocked a door in the far wall, leading them into a second room, then locked the door behind them again. He carried the candle with him, and as they entered, the light flickered over dozens of silent, impassive faces.

Maleneth grabbed her knives, unsure what she was seeing. As her eyes adjusted to the faint light, she saw that the room was square, like the first one, but devoid of furniture. There were nine frail old men standing around the walls, but they were so motionless that Maleneth wondered if they were statues. They were dressed similarly to Kurin and looked almost identical to him, with the same long, aristocratic features and gangly limbs.

‘What now?’ demanded Maleneth. ‘You’ve just trapped us in here. Those creatures won’t take long to kick down your door!’

Kurin ignored her.

‘Who are they?’ demanded Gotrek, still swaying, looking at the nine motionless figures.

‘My fellow shrivers,’ replied Kurin, placing his hand on one of the old men’s arms. ‘This is all of us that remain. The last of the hush.’ Muttering under his breath, he took the men’s hands and linked them, creating a circle.

‘Are they asleep?’ asked Maleneth, finding the whole scene vaguely distasteful.

Kurin shrugged. ‘We live in fragments and snatches, prolonging our span.’

Maleneth’s distaste grew. The dank, dark room felt like a grave, and the silent men looked like corpses. It appalled her to think what people had been driven to in their determination to evade Nagash. ‘What kind of existence is this? What kind of life is it?’

For the first time since they had met, Kurin’s veneer cracked. ‘This is victory. This is how we win.’ His tone was brittle. ‘Not through mindless devotion to callous gods.’

The noise of battle outside swelled louder. People were screaming and howling.

‘Can you hear that?’ demanded Maleneth. ‘What are we doing in here? We need to get out of Klemp.’

Kurin regained his composure and waved a dismissive hand. ‘We have time. No one passes through that door unless I permit it.’ He looked at Gotrek. ‘There is a way to Nagash. You must travel to Morbium.’

Gotrek shook his head. ‘Morbium?’

‘One of the Amethyst Princedoms. Not all of them fell. Some have remained hidden.’ Kurin reached beneath his robes and drew out a chain of nine polished padlocks, each one engraved with a different rune. They clattered as he held them up and traced his bony fingers over the markings. Then he hung them around the necks of each of the silent men. ‘Morbium,’ he said as he worked, ‘is one of the oldest of the underworlds, ruled by royal scholars known as Morn-Princes. Their knowledge of death magic is as vast as the Great Necromancer’s. When Nagash tried to conquer their realm, the reigning Morn-Prince defied him. Nagash punished him for his temerity, but even as he took his revenge, he fell into the prince’s trap. The Morn-Prince sacrificed himself so that Morbium could survive. A part of Nagash’s power was channelled into a rite the Morn-Prince had spent years preparing. Morbium vanished, and however Nagash tormented the prince, he could never discover the location of the princedom. The Morn-Prince had engineered the rite in such a way that he did not know where he had sent his own people, only that they would escape the predations of the gods.’

Kurin explained all this with an approving tone in his voice. ‘Nagash’s arrogance blinds him to the subtlety of those he tries to subjugate.’

‘Good for Morbium,’ slurred Gotrek. ‘How does that help me?’

‘Things have changed. Nagash’s power has grown. He has utilised a new, more powerful form of death magic. No one knows how, but he is suddenly able to drive back even the most powerful of the Chaos hosts. But it’s not just the Bloodbound and the Rotbringers that have been affected. A plague of undeath has washed through Shyish. Defences that endured for a thousand years have toppled. And Morbium is no different. The wards so cleverly woven by the prince all those years ago are toppling, and the hidden jewel of the princedoms has been exposed. Morbium is one of the first underworlds, one of the oldest, and now it seems set to fall the same way as all the others. At the moment, there is no more than a crack in its wall, but it will widen.’

‘Why does that make it a route to Nagash?’ asked Maleneth.

‘Because the wards that hid Morbium were created with Nagash’s own power. Nagash is blind to it, but Morbium is bound to him. Still part of him. In a tower, in a city, in the heart of Morbium, there are stones that still remember Nagash. I have no idea who the current prince is, but he is linked to Nagash. He has a direct route to the Great Nadir.’

Gotrek grinned, revealing a mess of broken teeth. ‘So if you take me to this Morn-Prince, he can send me to Nagash?’

Kurin looked at the ur-gold rune in Gotrek’s chest. It was flashing in the candlelight, and the same heat was burning in the Slayer’s eye. ‘I think you are fated to reach him.’

The Slayer replied with the complete certainty of the completely drunk. ‘Yes. I am. You’re right.’

Trachos shook his head. ‘We have never met this man before.’

Gotrek laughed. ‘What would you have me do instead, manling? Run back to one of your stormkeeps so you can open my chest and see how this rune works?’ He tapped the head of his axe on Trachos’ breastplate, his eye burning malevolently. ‘I am not one of Sigmar’s playthings.’

Gotrek shrugged. ‘Besides, you saw what’s happening outside. Wherever I go can’t be any worse than this. And if there’s even a chance of getting to grips with one of the gods, I’ll take it.’ He looked back at Kurin. ‘I agree with you, wizard. I was meant to go to this Morbium.’ His habitual scowl was replaced by a confused expression, and he began debating with himself. ‘I’ve no truck with prophecies and soothsayers, but something brought me to this place. I’m here for a reason. I must be.’

Maleneth gave Trachos a despairing look. Every time the Slayer got this drunk, it led to disaster.

Kurin was still staring at Gotrek, obviously intrigued by him. He waved to the silent, motionless figures. ‘If you really want to know why you’re here, my brothers may be able to help.’

Gotrek scowled. ‘I told you. My mind is my own. I’ll not have you rooting around in there.’

‘That’s not all we do, Slayer. Is there anyone from your past who could help you? You say you’re unsure why you were brought back. Back from where? Is there someone from your home who could help? A wandering spirit, perhaps – someone who might have the answer?’

‘Pah!’ Gotrek laughed. ‘Mystic gibberish.’

Kurin smiled, saying nothing.

Gotrek peered into his face. ‘You mean you can summon ghosts from one of these absurd realms?’

Kurin shrugged. ‘Or another. I can summon whichever ghost you like – from whatever realm you choose.’

Gotrek scratched at his stubbly scalp and stomped around the dingy room. ‘Anyone?’

Kurin nodded.

‘Gotrek,’ said Maleneth, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Listen to what’s going on out there. We need to leave. You’re drunk, and he’s a fraud. Why would he want to help you? There must be something he’s not telling us. Look at him. He’s no more than a–’

Gotrek silenced her with a warning finger. ‘He’s spoken more sense in the last ten minutes than you’ve done in three months.’

Gotrek looked back at Kurin. ‘There is a soul. A ghost I would wish to speak to.’ He carried on circling the room, not meeting anyone’s eye, drumming his blocky fingers on his axe. ‘A poet. Felix Jaeger. I owe him an apology. I did not end things as I should have.’

Kurin’s eyes glinted in the darkness. ‘Felix Jaeger.’ He placed his hand on Gotrek’s forearm.

The Slayer moved as if to shrug him off, but something happening to one of the figures in the shadows stopped him. It shuddered, as though waking from a deep sleep.

Gotrek staggered over to it, seeming to forget that Kurin had hold of his arm.

The temperature dropped.

Maleneth glanced around, sensing the presence of something unearthly. She stepped to Gotrek’s side and grimaced as she saw what was happening to the figure. The frail old man still had his eyes closed and still looked to be dead, with a ghastly complexion and no movement in his narrow chest, but something was happening to his skin. Just like on Kurin’s palm in the Muffled Drum, the creases had risen up and begun moving, coiling and twisting in a silent dance.

As the miniature storm whipped across the lifeless figure, it began to blur his features and then transform them. They all watched in surprise as a new face began to appear, scarred and handsome.

‘Is that you?’ whispered Gotrek, staring at the face that was moving beneath the skin, as though trying to break the surface of water. ‘Felix?’

‘Are you really so gullible?’ cried Maleneth. ‘He’s a charlatan! Can’t you see? He’s just showing you what you want to see. This is just a cheap trick designed to–’

‘Can he speak?’ demanded Gotrek, ignoring her.

‘Give him a moment,’ said Kurin. ‘He’s travelled a great distance to be here.’

The younger face finally broke through the surface of the older one. The man stared around the room in confusion, until his eyes came to rest on the Slayer.

‘Gotrek!’ His voice sounded muffled, like it was coming through a thick wall. ‘Is that really you?’ As it spoke, the figure lurched into life, reaching out and stumbling forwards, like the ghouls they had fought outside.

Gotrek grabbed the man’s arms. ‘Can you hear me?’

He nodded. ‘You survived?’ he said, sounding dazed.

For a moment Gotrek was too overcome to speak. When he finally answered, his voice was husky. ‘I should have stayed with you, manling. They tricked me. Grimnir tricked me. The gods lied, Felix. Everything has been lost.’

The face behind the face smiled. ‘If you’re alive, not everything has been lost.’ Then he frowned and looked back into the darkness, as though someone had called him. ‘I can’t stay,’ he said, turning back to the Slayer.

‘Forgive me,’ growled Gotrek, still gripping his arms.

Maleneth shook her head, still unable to believe that the Slayer could fall for such obvious deception.

Felix smiled again. ‘You are unforgivable, Gotrek. You always were.’ Then his expression became serious. ‘Make them pay. Make them pay for their lies.’

‘Aye!’ Gotrek was breathing heavily. ‘I’m close. Nagash is within my reach. I’m going to bring his whole bloody palace down on his–’ He frowned as the face under the skin vanished, leaving the sleeping face of the old man. ‘Where’s he gone?’ Gotrek demanded, looking at Kurin.

Kurin frowned. ‘You have him so clearly pinned in your memory. There should have been no problem talking to him. Something held him back. Something is keeping him from you – guarding his soul.’

Gotrek spat into the dust. ‘Nagash. Who else?’ He began pacing again, swinging his axe in a way that was far from ideal in such a small space. ‘No matter. The manling was clear enough. Make them pay. And I will do. Starting with Nagash.’ He paused and looked back at the now motionless figure, clearly still shaken by the whole exchange. Then he turned to Kurin. ‘How do we get to Morbium?’

Kurin was still frowning, staring at the sleeping figure that had just been talking to Gotrek. Then he smiled, waving them back, outside the circle. He checked the chains around the old men’s necks, adjusted the padlocks, then began muttering his incantation again. As he spoke, the hard-packed earth of the floor began to spiral and twist. A miniature storm raged between the silent figures, whirling and turning and causing Gotrek and the others to shield their faces.

When the dust cleared, Kurin was still smiling. There was a circular opening at his feet, with narrow steps leading down into the darkness.

‘Follow me,’ he said, descending. ‘The entrance to Morbium is not far.’