Not that I blame them, Hammerson thought as he and Volker joined the Emperor and Gelt. The dwarfs too had their stories of the Shadow-in-the-Earth, and his fell deeds were carved into the record of grudges for many a clan and hold. It was said that Be’lakor had been responsible for the destruction of Karak Zhul, among other crimes.
Malekith reclined on his throne, Alarielle beside him. Tyrion stood to the left of them, and Caradryan to the right. Teclis and Lileath stood at the foot of the dais. The latter looked hale and healthy for a woman almost stolen away by a daemon, Hammerson thought. Then, maybe the gods of the elgi were made of sterner stuff than gossamer and moonbeams. Nagash, as ever, stood away from the rest, accompanied only by Arkhan the Black and Vlad.
‘I heard the other vampire escaped,’ Hammerson murmured, looking at Gelt. ‘Slipped clean away in all the confusion.’
‘He can’t have got far,’ the Emperor said. ‘Athel Loren is a trap from which there is no escape, I’m told.’
Gelt shook his head. ‘You don’t know Mannfred. He’s escaped, otherwise Vlad wouldn’t be here,’ he said, nodding towards the vampire. ‘If Mannfred were still loose in this forest, Vlad would be on his trail. That he’s here instead…’ He shrugged.
‘What’s one more monster loose in the world, eh?’ Hammerson said. He fell silent as Malekith rose from his throne.
The Eternity King looked down at Be’lakor. ‘Well, beast. What have you to say for yourself? I would have thought that you’d have learned your lesson when you came for the Oak of Ages and we sent you scuttling off back into the dark.’
Be’lakor looked up, eyes smouldering with hatred. ‘Did you ever learn from your many, many attempts to conquer Ulthuan, Witch-King?’ Be’lakor looked at Teclis. ‘Or did you have to wait for someone to do it for you?’ The daemon prince laughed.
‘At least I accomplished it in the end,’ Malekith said. ‘You, unfortunately, have been descending ever further into cosmic irrelevance with each passing century. Look at you – you’re barely a ghost now. Just a flickering blotch at the corner of my vision, a whisper easily ignored.’
Be’lakor looked at the halberds pointed at him. ‘You do not seem to be ignoring me.’
‘No,’ Alarielle said. She did not rise, but her voice commanded immediate attention. ‘You have made that impossible, beast. You must be dealt with.’
‘And yet here I kneel,’ Be’lakor growled.
‘Destruction is far too merciful for a creature like you,’ Malekith said. He glanced at Lileath as he spoke. ‘Besides, who knows how long you’ve been flitting about, listening to our councils? Why send you back to the Realm of Chaos, where your dark spirit would merely inform your masters of what you’ve learned?’ Malekith gestured derisively. ‘No, I think we can do better than that.’
Be’lakor laughed. ‘I do not fear you.’
‘THEN YOU ARE A FOOL,’ Nagash said. ‘LONG HAVE I BEEN CURIOUS AS TO THE DURABILITY OF CORPOREAL MANIFESTATIONS SUCH AS YOURSELF. HOW MUCH IS FLESH AND HOW MUCH IS THOUGHT? I SHALL DISCOVER THE ANSWER AT MY LEISURE. AND YOU? YOU WILL HOWL.’
Be’lakor stared at the liche, as if trying to gauge the truth of his words. Then he laughed. The sound was a bitter one, full of malice but also resignation. It was the laugh of a master who had met his match. ‘I know you, Nagash of Khemri. I saw you place yourself on your father’s throne, blood still wet on your hands. And I know that you will do as you say, and worse besides.’ He looked at Malekith. ‘What must I offer, to escape the tender mercies of the Lord of the Charnel Ground?’
Gelt stepped up. ‘Information, daemon. We wish to know why the Everchosen sits in Middenheim, and allows beasts to lay siege to this place. Why has he not come himself?’
‘Perhaps you’re just not that important,’ Be’lakor said. Malekith gestured, and the shadow-stuff which made up Be’lakor’s form writhed for a moment. The daemon shrieked and shuddered. Malekith lowered his hand, and Be’lakor sagged, panting. The daemon prince laughed weakly. ‘It is the truth,’ he hissed. He looked at Gelt. ‘Three times, I have sought to pre-empt the Everchosen’s successes with my own, and three times I have failed. But there will not be a fourth. So I will speak. I will tell you all that I know.’
He shoved himself to his feet. The Black Guard stepped back as one at Malekith’s gesture, giving the creature room. Be’lakor looked around. ‘Archaon has no reason to come to Athel Loren, for he already has what he desires – what the gods themselves desire. You think them directionless. You think them to be mad, idiot intelligences, but they are anything but. There is purpose in the random, and direction in the storm. The destruction of your petty Empire was never the goal,’ he said, leering at the Emperor. The latter didn’t so much as bat an eye, and Hammerson felt his respect for the human grow.
‘The gods care little for the slaughter of nations, or the deaths of kingdoms. Oh, they dine well on the souls offered up so, but Middenheim is the true prize. Middenheim, and what lies beneath it,’ Be’lakor continued. His eyes strayed to Volker and the daemon twitched back. Volker shuddered and made a low sound in his throat, but the Emperor placed a hand on his shoulder, calming him. Be’lakor blinked, and said, ‘There is an artefact there, a device from an earlier age, before the coming of Chaos. Even now, Archaon works to excavate it.’
‘What sort of artefact?’ Teclis demanded, voice hoarse. Hammerson was startled by the elf’s expression. He had never known one of that race to ever show such raw horror so openly before. The mage was white-faced and trembling.
‘One which, if certain rites are performed, will detonate. It will create a rift in the fabric of your colourless reality. A rift to equal those which occupy the poles of this broken world.’ The daemon prince smiled. ‘So you see, you are not important, for you have already lost.’
‘Well, I don’t see it,’ Hammerson blurted out. ‘What is this overly talkative soot-stain hissing about?’ He looked at Gelt, who shook his head helplessly.
‘It means the end of everything, dwarf,’ Teclis said. ‘The end of the world.’
Teclis sagged. He felt as if his strength were but a memory. Everything he had done, every sacrifice he had made… all for nothing. He felt Lileath reach out to steady him, but he flinched away from her. He forced himself up, and looked around. Every eye was upon him now, waiting for answers only he could provide. Answers that he did not wish to provide. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat. ‘The Loremasters of Hoeth theorised that our world only survived the coming of Chaos because a terrible equilibrium formed between the two polar rifts. They cancelled one another out, and became stable. But if a similar rift is opened in Middenheim, with no counterbalance…’ He trailed off, unable to get the words out.
‘THE WORLD WILL BE CONSUMED,’ Nagash said.
‘It might take years, or days or mere moments,’ Teclis said. ‘But if that rift is called into being, if it hasn’t already been called into being, the end is certain.’ He looked around. Horror and fear was etched onto every face.
I did this, he thought. If he hadn’t taken the Flame of Ulric, Middenheim might have withstood the siege. Tyrion would be dead, but the world might have survived. He had sacrificed everything to resurrect his brother, and now it was all for nothing. The world was doomed regardless. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against his staff. My fault, he thought. Forgive me, please.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the man, Volker, staring at him. The human’s eyes had gone yellow, and something terrible and lupine was superimposed over his own features. It was invisible to the others, he knew, save perhaps Lileath and Nagash. But the godspark was there, crouched in the dark of Volker’s soul, waiting. The wolf-god met his gaze and licked his chops. Teclis shuddered and looked away. No wonder the god persisted. Teclis had bet the world and lost, and now his debt was fast coming due.