‘I lost it a long time ago, aelf. If this is another plot by the Grey Lord, I will slaughter his verminous griks. I always do. More so than any fool or coward in the World-That-Was, the rat Thanquol was determined to fulfil my doom oath. I should have known he’d follow me into a new reality.’
‘If you don’t care about your own life then at least consider the rune,’ Maleneth said, struggling to keep her exhaustion-stoked temper in check. ‘More than anyone else, you must be aware of its power. It cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of servants of disorder and darkness. Or do you think I have been following you merely for your good company?’
‘It’ll be hard for the rats to get their hands on it as long as it’s here,’ Gotrek replied, thumping a fist against the Master Rune on his chest.
‘For one moment, stop to consider the consequences of your actions,’ Maleneth raged, her anger finally getting the better of her. ‘At least one unknown being is tracking us, presumably the same one who shifted the trail markers and nearly succeeded in drowning us in dragging sand. That is not to speak of the ratmen assassins that have been hunting you, three in the last month alone. Whatever these dancers have for us, it is almost certainly a trap.’
Gotrek glared at her, and she noticed the grim-faced rune stamped into his skin glow a little more brightly.
‘I told you, dark aelf, the vermin have been trying to stab me in the back for as long as I can remember,’ the duardin replied, pointedly ignoring her last words. ‘If you don’t like rats, you should stop following me. The mad one, Thanquol, will never stop hunting me. From what I’ve seen of these accursed realms, he’ll probably return even after I’ve put an axe through his horned skull.’
‘You think because you have lived this long that you are immortal,’ Maleneth said, taking a step towards the duardin and pointing down at him. ‘You think you are a god–’
‘Do not insult me more than you already have, wretch,’ Gotrek barked. ‘You know nothing of the gods. I have seen foolishness and craven treachery among mortals, but none to match that of the divine. I have met many thousands of dwarfs worthier and more honourable than Grimnir alone!’
‘Regardless, you will not live forever, Gotrek of the World-that-Was. I serve a true god, the Bloody-Handed one, Khaine, Prince of Murder, and if there is one thing my devotion has taught me it is that all beings die. Even gods. Guard your own life, duardin, for there are many eager to steal it from you.’
The commotion of the market around her had stilled.
You are attracting attention, Witchblade, hissed her mistress’ voice. Sometimes I wonder whether you were ever my student.
‘I knew your god in that long-dead age,’ Gotrek growled, his eye flaring like the stoked embers of a forge pit. ‘His servants there were just as weak and pathetic as they are here. I fear nothing, dark aelf, least of all your threats.’
Before she could reply, Maleneth felt a presence intruding from her left. She half turned, lightning fast, barely resisting the murderous urge to lash out with her blades.
Aziz cringed back and yelped with fear. He had returned.
‘I’ve been looking for you, sellah,’ he stammered. ‘My uncle, he has agreed to let you stay under his roof tonight. But…’
He trailed off, and Maleneth realised he was looking at the writing on the slip of paper she still held in one hand.
‘The dancers of the Alharab,’ she said, holding the note before his eyes. ‘You know of them?’ Aziz hesitated before responding.
‘Yes, sellah. You will not find many here who have not. They perform for the councils and guilder lords of the Triumvirate Cities. I have never heard of their troupe visiting a place like Khaled-Tush to dance before.’
‘And?’
Aziz shook his head, clearly reluctant to continue. ‘They say that the daughters of the Alharab are spies, that they buy and sell knowledge to those who pay for their performances. Their dances are not merely for the entertainment of onlookers.’
‘See!’ Maleneth snapped, turning back to Gotrek. ‘It’s a trap.’ But the duardin was already pushing away through the market once more.
‘I’m going to watch the dancing,’ he barked back over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you aelves love that kind of thing?’
Maleneth closed her eyes and bit her lip, forcing herself not to spit a string of Khainite curses in the Slayer’s wake.
‘My uncle,’ Aziz said slowly, edging away from the aelf. ‘He is expecting us. It would be a disgrace to turn away his hospitality now. Please, sellah, bring the angry duardin back. The Alharabi will surely not have anything that he needs. They sell only lies and secrets.’
‘Go back to your uncle,’ Maleneth ordered. ‘Apologise for us, and try to save us some food. We will return as soon as we are able.’
Before Aziz could protest, she picked one of Gotrek’s coins from the pouch around her waist and pressed it into his palm. Then she was gone, slipping through the crowds after the Slayer.
Chapter Three
The black top was a tented pavilion sited on the banks of the great oasis, beneath the shade of spreading palms and poplar trees. The oasis itself was unlike any Maleneth had seen in the Bone Desert – its water was not bound by the dry earth, but floated gently in a thousand liquid spheres ranging from a few feet or so off the ground to nearly a hundred yards overhead, far above the tops of the surrounding trees. Occasionally one of the slowly swirling globes would break apart and come pattering down in a shower of water, drenching the moist oasis bed, while others would slowly come together amidst a fresh spray.
The black top’s flanks were glistening from such collisions. The great tent was removed from much of the rest of Khaled-Tush, and Maleneth felt her senses becoming increasingly on edge as Gotrek’s route led them away from the braziers and torches and ceaseless activity of the caravan market and into the darkness. The night was still, the lapping of the oasis spheres against one another and the rustle of the trees overhead providing a disconcerting change to the bustle they had left behind.
As Maleneth drew closer to the pavilion the sounds of the night faded, overtaken once more by the hubbub of activity. Her attuned hearing picked out voices, laughter, shouts and, underlying it all, the thumping rhythm of drumbeats. Light glimmered from the entrance of the pavilion ahead, silhouetting two veiled guards. She saw Gotrek entering, the flames flickering across the surface of the Master Rune and the greataxe slung across his back. She quickened her pace, one hand on the blade of her dagger. The two men watching the entrance looked at her, but neither moved to intercept the aelf. She passed between them and in through the entrance flap.
The pavilion was packed. Candle stands illuminated hundreds of figures pressed in beneath the black canvas arching high overhead, their attention fixed on a wooden stage that had been erected across from the main entrance. They looked for the most part like merchants, tribal leaders and better-off travellers, clad in the white or deep red robes, silks, headscarves and veils of the Triumvirate Cities’ wealthy guilds. They applauded the stage or chattered and laughed amongst themselves, creating a clamour that made Maleneth grimace.
Be on your guard, child, murmured her mistress’ voice in her head. She clutched her pendant in one hand, the blood vial a cold reassurance.
Gotrek was just ahead, pushing his way unceremoniously through the crowd towards the stage. The complaints died rapidly when those he forced aside saw the scarred duardin’s dour expression, or the broad blades of his axe.
Maleneth darted after him. The air in the pavilion was stifling, heavy with the stink of sweat and the sickly sweet cloy of perfume. The whole place vibrated to the primal drumbeats coming from the stage. It was making her feel light-headed. She caught Gotrek just as he forced his way to the front of the audience.