Kurin watched the man’s approach with no sign of concern, then, at the last moment, disintegrated into a cloud of dust, his would-be attacker lunging at the space he had just occupied before falling to the floor.
The man thrashed, panting and gasping, then stood and leapt at the nearest person. Unfortunately for him, that was Gotrek.
The Slayer swung his enormous greataxe with no sign of effort, sinking the blade deep into his attacker’s skull.
The man staggered under the impact but did not fall. He looked confused as he reached up to touch the blade that was embedded in his head.
‘You’re dead,’ prompted Gotrek.
The man snarled and tried to jump at him again.
The Slayer muttered a curse, wrenched the axe free and hacked it through his neck, sending his head bouncing through the dust.
For a few seconds the man carried on, staggering towards Gotrek with blood rushing down his chest.
Then he crashed to the ground and finally lay still.
‘Gotrek,’ said Trachos, waving one of his hammers down the street.
Dozens more people were lurching into the town, men and women dressed in bloody rags and twitching like marionettes. Their backs were so hunched that their spines jutted through their flesh, and their long, emaciated arms hung down to the ground so that they punched the dirt as they ran simian-like into the light.
‘What devilry is this?’ grunted Gotrek, looking at Maleneth.
She shook her head, drawing her knives as the blank-eyed mob rushed towards them.
‘They’re mordants,’ said Kurin. He had reappeared a few feet away. Dust was still eddying around his robes, and his face took a moment to solidify. ‘Their lord sends the bone rain in first. It gives them an easy victory.’
The mob limped and hopped down the street, their hands extended and twisted, like broken claws.
‘What they lack in intellect,’ said the sorcerer with a smile, ‘they make up for in hunger.’
‘Ghouls?’ Gotrek sneered. ‘I’ve met their like before.’ He reeled drunkenly down the street, collided with an overturned cart then righted himself, raised his axe and hurled himself at the mob.
He landed with a flurry of blows, scattering limbs and heads.
Trachos limped to his side and began hammering the few creatures Gotrek had missed.
Maleneth gave Kurin a despairing look, but he just shrugged, seeming amused by the carnage.
‘Can you get him to Nagash?’ she cried, yelling over the sound of the fighting.
He nodded, still watching the fight.
As Gotrek and Trachos lunged and hacked, dozens more of the mordants were emerging from the storm, all moving with the same disjointed gait. They formed a ragged circle around the pair, closing in on them.
Gotrek and Trachos were hugely outnumbered, but Maleneth made no move to help. She had seen the Slayer face much worse odds without breaking into a sweat. As the crowds tried uselessly to swamp him, she turned to Kurin.
‘Why would you help him?’ she shouted, struggling to raise her voice over the howling wind.
‘There is a change coming, aelf. I feel it in this wind. And I can see it in your friend. Getting him to Nagash could be a piece of the puzzle.’
Maleneth shook her head. ‘Servants of the God-King do not–’
‘I don’t serve the God-King!’ cried Gotrek, striding back towards them, leaving a heap of broken bodies in his wake.
‘Not directly,’ said Maleneth, ‘but–’
‘Not in any way!’
Kurin nodded in approval, then turned to Maleneth. ‘And you? How many gods do you prostrate yourself before? Is Sigmar your only keeper?’
She glared at him. ‘I’m an acolyte of the Hidden Temple, the Bloody-Handed, the Widowmaker. The Lord of Murder is my soul and my heart. But I’m–’
‘But you’re no fool,’ interrupted Kurin. ‘Whatever you swore to Khaine, Sigmar’s Stormhosts are your only chance of survival. So your unshakeable faith is now shared with the storm god.’
Fury boiled through Maleneth. ‘My queen communed with Khaine. She is the High Oracle, and she has prophesied the destruction of Chaos. Soon everyone will see the power of the Murder God.’ She laughed. ‘Turn your back on the gods if you like, wizard, but it won’t help you escape their wrath.’
Kurin rolled his eyes.
Gotrek glanced back at the dead ghouls and then beyond the town walls, to the storm clouds that were still whipping through the darkness. ‘How would you get me to Nagash?’
‘I can do nothing unless we leave Klemp.’
Maleneth was about to ask another question when Kurin held up a hand for silence, nodding down the street.
Klemp was swarming with mordants. There were now hundreds of them, tearing down doors and clambering through windows. Screams knifed through the storm as the creatures dragged people from their homes, snarling and clawing, filling the air with blood.
‘Into my rooms,’ said Kurin, waving casually towards one of the buildings. ‘Quickly.’
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.’