‘A good place for an ambush,’ Mara said, looking around. The Sequitor-Prime removed her helm, revealing close-cropped hair. Dark eyes narrowed as she took in their surroundings with a veteran’s attention to detail. ‘They might not expect it.’
Quintus grunted. ‘And they might ambush the ambushers.’ The Castigator-Prime shook his head. ‘This is unstable ground. Bad for making a stand.’
‘Not if we’re careful,’ Gellius said. The engineer frowned, like a craftsman facing a stubborn bit of wood. ‘We can hold them here, with a few warriors. Not forever, but long enough to slow them down, my lord. Give you time to reach the heart of this labyrinth, if that is your plan.’ He peered down the avenue, towards the sound of the bells, and then looked at Balthas. ‘The stone here is weak – too much movement. A few blasts, and down it’ll come, every crypt and brace.’ He grinned. ‘If Sigmar is with us, I’ll bury the lot of them.’
‘Not alone you won’t,’ Mara said. ‘I will take half of my cohort, and a third of Quintus’, if he’s willing.’ She glanced at Quintus, who, after a moment, nodded. She looked back at Balthas. ‘The rest, and the survivors of Porthas’, will be enough to make a stand with you, my lord. We will bloody them for you.’ She looked at him. ‘It is the pragmatic choice, my lord. Efficient.’
Balthas looked down at her. He barely knew her. Mara, like Quintus and the others, was almost a cipher to him. He had never made the effort to know them, not really. And now, who they were was to be lost. They would not survive, and what emerged from the Anvil of Apotheosis would be a different person.
‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment. He glanced at Calys. ‘You will take command of the remaining Sequitors.’ It was not a request. She nodded, after a brief hesitation.
‘As you will, lord-arcanum.’
Balthas paused. Knossus would have had a speech for a moment like this, he was certain. But he had no words. He looked at Mara and Gellius. ‘Sigmar go with you, sister. And you as well, Gellius.’
Gellius smiled. ‘He always has, my lord. Today shouldn’t be any different.’
Calys did not look back, as they left Mara, Gellius and the others behind. The dark seemed to press in from all sides, and somewhere bells were ringing plaintively. It had not felt so stifling before, and Calys wondered what might be awakening in the depths. And what might be awaiting them, when they finally arrived.
She glanced at Elya, still sitting atop Balthas’ steed. She tried not to think about the danger the girl was in, and wished she’d sent the child with the others, into the duardin tunnels. Then, perhaps Elya wouldn’t be any safer with her father.
She frowned, thinking about the way Duvak had screamed at the sight of her. Balthas was right – something in the lamplighter was broken. He barely functioned, beyond the rote mundanity of his job. Elya didn’t seem to mind, but it was hard to tell. The girl was as difficult to read as the cats who followed her.
A different thought intruded as she watched them. Something she’d heard and dismissed, if briefly. She’d wanted to ask Balthas earlier, but her courage had failed her. But now, watching Balthas striding alongside Elya, the desire to know was renewed. She turned, searching for the one she might ask about it.
‘What did you mean, when you said that the lord-arcanum would get to face Pharus again?’ she murmured, as she fell into step beside Miska, where she strode at the head of the column, her gaze sweeping their surroundings warily.
The mage-sacristan stiffened. She did not look at Calys. ‘I misspoke.’
‘Did you? How do the dead know how to get down here? I assumed they would follow us, but Balthas seems to believe differently. And he said Pharus’ name as well, then. You said his soul was lost, mage-sacristan. What did you mean by that?’
Miska bowed her head. ‘I meant what I said, Liberator-Prime. He is lost.’
‘Then how can Balthas face him?’
Miska looked at her. ‘Do you truly wish to know?’
Calys hesitated. She wanted to say yes, but couldn’t bring the word to her lips. Something in the mage-sacristan’s tone sent a chill through her. She had been taught that to become one with Azyr, as all Stormcasts were, was something irrevocable. Stormcast souls could be lost, or even destroyed, but never changed. If that were not true…
She looked down at her hands, disturbed by the implication. ‘Can he be returned to us?’ she asked, finally. ‘Can he be made… what he was?’
Miska sighed. ‘No.’
‘Are you so sure?’ It came out as an accusation. Miska glanced at her, a sharp smile on her features. Calys stepped back, suddenly ashamed. The look in the other Stormcast’s eyes was as hard and as cold as the winds of the Borealis Mountains.
‘If I were not, I would not be who I am, sister. And perhaps I would be happier for it.’ Miska looked away. ‘We would all be happier for it, I think. But we are who we are, and we are needed, sadly.’
Calys shook her head. ‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘And what purpose would that serve?’ Miska smiled – not cold now, but sad. ‘Our purpose – the things we must do on occasion – they are whispered of among some of our brethren. None wish to believe, but all fear it nonetheless. As they should.’
Calys looked away. ‘You speak so plainly of it, sister.’
Miska shrugged. ‘It is no longer a whisper. Instead it is a roar. Sigmar cast aside the veil of secrecy, and now our existence, our purpose, is known.’ She looked ahead, to where Balthas walked beside his steed and Elya. ‘Balthas came here because of Pharus. He feels that he failed and seeks to redeem himself – and Pharus, as well. So you see, you are not alone in your guilt, misplaced as it is.’
Calys frowned, studying the lord-arcanum. She wondered if she had misjudged him. She nodded at Miska and moved to catch up with Balthas. He glanced at her as she drew near. ‘Lord-arcanum, I–’ she began. She was interrupted by the gryph-charger. The animal reared with a shriek, as crackling arrows hummed out of the shadows and thudded into the avenue before him. Light flared in the dark. ‘Hold,’ a deep voice called out, from somewhere above. ‘Announce yourselves.’
‘Dathus,’ Calys shouted, recognising the voice. ‘It’s me, lord-relictor. I come bringing aid.’ She stepped forwards, arms raised.
‘Calys?’ The light grew brighter, revealing the figure of the lord-relictor, standing atop a broken stairway. Retributors moved into view, through the crypts. Dathus looked battered, as though he’d been fighting his own war down in the dark. His mortis armour was dented and scorched, and a wide crack ran through the left eye of his skull helm. The Retributors who accompanied him looked much the same. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We are here to help,’ Balthas said.
Dathus started. Then, he bowed his head. ‘Lord-arcanum.’ He straightened and hurried down the steps. ‘Calys, what is going on?’
‘The dead have entered the city, brother. Worse, they have entered the catacombs. We mean to intercept them, before…’ Calys trailed off. Dathus’ eyes widened within his helm.
‘If that’s so, how did you find your way down here to warn us?’ Then, more urgently, ‘Is there a gap in our defences?’
‘The child, Elya, led us…’ Balthas began. Calys turned. Elya was no longer sitting atop Quicksilver. Neither were there any cats visible. ‘She’s gone,’ Balthas said.
‘Gone?’ Calys turned, searching, her voice rising. A cold surge that might have been fear swept through her. A raw sensation, and one she was not used to. ‘Where is she?’ She made as if to go back, but Miska reached out to stop her.