“True,” Nagaira agreed. “But that leaves his servants, his guards and most importantly, his web of protective wards and traps.”
Malus leaned forward and rested his fingertip lightly in the hollow of her throat. “I’m sure you have ways of getting past his many enchantments.”
Nagaira chuckled. “And why should I help you?”
“To hurt Urial, of course. And to share in the power once I’ve brought it out of the Wastes.”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“Now can you get me and a small group of my retainers into the tower?”
Nagaira’s eyes roamed the crowded bookshelves and tables around the room, as if taking a mental inventory. “I can get a small group inside the tower,” she said after a moment’s thought. “But I will have to accompany you as well. I expect some traps will require more than a protective amulet to slip past.”
Malus thought it over. He didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t see that he had any choice. At least with her along he could be certain she would do everything in her power to ensure they got out alive. “Very well.”
“And we share in whatever power you bring out of the Wastes?”
“Of course,” he said, the lie sliding smoothly off his tongue.
His half-sister smiled, reclining languidly on the divan. “Then linger with me here a while, dear brother,” she said. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen one another, and you and I have much to catch up on.”
Chapter Five
STRATAGEMS
The ice-cold water was a shock to his skin, enough to make Malus catch his breath as he scrubbed the dried blood from his chest and arms, but not quite enough to banish the crawling sensation of worms coiling through his flesh. He fought to keep his gorge down against the squirming sensation filling his mouth and caressing his tongue.
“I do not like this,” Silar Thornblood said. “It’s reckless.” The tall druchii stood by his lord’s side, his long face grimmer than usual. “How do we know she can be trusted?”
Unable to stand it anymore, Malus plunged his face into the freezing, pink-tinged water. The searing cold banished the lingering memories of his sister’s embrace, if only for a moment. He came up for air gasping, unsettled, but for a moment the master of his own skin. “She can’t be trusted,” he said, wiping his face on a towel offered by Silar. “But for the moment she and I have a common objective — stealing Urial’s precious relic and seizing the power it protects. Nagaira can be counted on to ensure her own interests are met, and no more.”
The highborn’s bedchamber was a crowded place in the wake of the evening’s assassination attempt and the sudden meeting with his sister. Along with Silar, Lhunara and Arleth Vann paced or brooded at different points around the small, dimly-lit chamber, clearly unhappy with the outcome of the night’s events. The druchii woman stood at one of the chamber’s narrow windows, watching the night begin to fade in a slow ebb from black to grey.
Hag Graef was called the City of Shadows for a reason — surrounded by steep mountainsides, the bottom of the valley felt the direct touch of sunlight for only a couple of hours each day, and even then only on rare, cloud-free days in the summer. For much of the year Hag Graef was wrapped in a perpetual twilight. Far below in the city proper, she could see the faint, flickering gleam of witchfire globes, guttering like stars amid the currents of caustic night fog roiling in the streets.
“Silar is right,” she said thoughtfully. “You are being too hasty, my lord. There are too many unknowns, too many things that can go wrong… We do not even know where this temple is. Somewhere in the Chaos Wastes? We could be gone for years — if we ever come back at all.”
“Nagaira claims that the relic will point to the location of the temple,” Malus said, “and I would rather be raiding the Wastes than waiting here for the next temple assassin to take my head.”
“But surely we can wait for a few more days at least? Spend some coin and see what we can learn about Urial’s tower to make a better plan—”
“We don’t have a few days. We have to strike while Urial is out of his lair. We think he’ll be at the temple for the next several nights, but the only night we can count on for certain is tonight. Isn’t that right, Arleth?”
Arleth Vann stirred from the shadows in the far corner of the room. With his heavy black cloak pulled about him and the top of the broad cowl hanging down over his face, he was nearly invisible in the darkness. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Every supplicant in the city must attend the veneration ceremonies tonight, which last from sunset to sunrise.”
Malus caught Lhunara eyeing Arleth speculatively. Many in the warband suspected that the retainer had been involved with the temple at some point in his past. Arleth had good reason not to discuss his life before coming to Hag Graef, and Malus kept what he knew to himself. It was a worthwhile trade to gain a retainer of Arleth’s particular skills.
“So you see, we’ve little time to prepare,” the highborn interjected, “and my enemies are moving against me. If things get too far out of hand it’s possible that Lurhan will exile me — or worse — rather than risk drawing the entire family into a blood feud. I do not have the resources, the power, to fight off these threats. It will be difficult enough just to equip this expedition, much less fight a house war against an alliance of petty nobles.” Malus pulled on a sleeping robe and went to the polished ashwood table near the foot of the bed. He picked up a jug of looted Bretonnian wine and filled the goblet standing alongside it. “If this… relic… is half as fearsome as Nagaira seems to think it is, things will be very different here upon our return.”
“Do you truly plan to share it with her?” Silar asked.
“Only if I must,” Malus admitted, sipping his wine. “And only until I’m certain I can master it myself. If I think I can wield it without her… well, the Wastes are a dangerous place, aren’t they?”
Lhunara nodded to herself, spinning a web of stratagems and contingencies in her mind. “How many men will she take with her?”
“Six, including that throat-cutter Dalvar. I’ll be bringing six as well, including you and Vanhir. Silar, Dolthaic and Arleth Vann will remain here with the rest of the warband to keep watch over what little property I have left. I don’t doubt Urial will retaliate in some fashion once he learns of the theft.”
“Don’t take Vanhir,” Silar growled. “He’ll betray you if he can.”
“I agree,” Lhunara said, “especially after your retribution on the road from Clar Karond. He hates you more now than ever.”
“Precisely why I want him where I can keep my eye on him,” Malus replied. “He will keep his oath to the letter, to the last minute of the very last day. That’s more than a month away. If we’re still in the Wastes by then, it might be easier just to kill him, but until then he’s one more sword I can use to achieve my ends.”
Lhunara folded her arms and turned back to the window, clearly unhappy with the idea. “Do we take the nauglir, then?”
“Yes,” Malus said. “I’ll take teeth and claws over a horse’s hooves any day. Besides, they can carry more gear and move further each day than a pack train of horses.”
“They’ll also need to eat a lot more,” Lhunara pointed out.
Malus chuckled. “Where we’re going, I don’t think we’ll lack for bodies to feed to the cold ones. Dolthaic will have them saddled and ready in the stables as soon as we emerge from Urial’s tower. I don’t plan on staying here one more minute than I must once the deed is done.”
“I’m more interested in hearing how you’re going to get in and out of Urial’s tower,” Silar said.
Malus poured a second cupful of wine. “No one knows for certain how many servants Urial has, nor how many retainers. He gets many of them from the temple, and they all wear those heavy robes and masks. He could have twenty or two hundred. Worse, Nagaira is certain his lair will be heavily guarded by magical wards and bound spirits. Even monsters, perhaps.”
Th
e highborn glanced at Arleth Vann. The two locked eyes for a moment, then the retainer shrugged. “It is possible,” Arleth Vann said. “None but the priestesses know how far Urial has progressed in the mysteries of Khaine. He could be capable of a great many terrible things. It is even possible that his lair may no longer be… entirely of this realm.”
Lhunara took a step towards the cowled retainer. “What does that mean?”
Arleth Vann’s head bowed. Malus could see the tension in the line of his muscular shoulders and the stillness of his frame. “Go, on, Arleth,” the highborn prodded.
“I can’t say for certain. I don’t even understand it fully, myself. But… there are places in the great temples, deep places where only the most holy may go, that bear witness to ancient rites and observances. Only the finest sacrifices are made there; there is no word spoken in that place that is not an offering to the Lord of Murder. It is a place where the highest priests go to look upon the visage of Khaine and his realm of slaughter. They thin the weave between worlds, until sometimes it becomes difficult to tell what is of this realm and what is not.”
Lhunara frowned. “Now you’re speaking in riddles.”
No, Lhunara, he isn’t, Malus thought. But it’s for the best that you don’t understand, else I might have a mutiny on my hands. Considering the implications was like a cold knife twisting in his gut. “Are you saying that his sanctum could be such a place?”
Arleth Vann looked up at the highborn’s voice. The face beneath the hood was guarded, except for the eyes. They were bleak. “It is possible,” he said. “Nothing is certain with one such as him. He is bound by no law, in this world or the next.”
“From what you’re both describing, this sounds like a fool’s errand,” Lhunara snarled.
“Not so,” Malus said. “Nagaira knows of a hidden way into the tower from the burrows—”
“The burrows?”
“Enough, woman! She will lead us into the burrows from an entrance elsewhere in the fortress, and then up into Urial’s storerooms. She says she has talismans that will allow us to pass unnoticed through his wards and calm his unnatural sentries. Since she will be with us the entire time I have no doubt that she is certain of their power.”
“And if she’s wrong, my lord?”
“Once inside,” he continued, ignoring her question, “we will kill any servants or guards we encounter on the way to Urial’s sanctum. If the Dark Mother smiles on us, that won’t be necessary. Ideally, we will be able to slip in and out with no one the wiser. Nevertheless, once we get inside the sanctum we will have to move very quickly. Now, Nagaira does not know exactly what this relic looks like—”
Lhunara started to speak, her eyes going wide, but Malus silenced her with a sharp glare.
“But she is certain she will know it when she sees it. We will search the sanctum, locate the relic and depart the same way we arrived. With luck, we should not be inside the tower more than half an hour at most. Once we are back in the burrows we should be able to reach the stables within minutes, and be out of the Hag and on the Spear Road within the hour. By the time Urial returns and finds the relic gone we will be leagues away.”
“Leaving us to bear the brunt of his wrath,” Silar said, his voice full of dread.
Lhunara shook her head. “I do not like this, my lord. It stinks too much of misadventure. If one thing goes wrong the whole plan could unravel, and then where would we be?”
“Not much worse off than we are now, Lhunara,” Malus replied coldly. “The temple has been promised my head, and if my suspicions are correct, Urial was responsible for the ambush on the Slavers’ Road. No, I will not sit here and wait for the kiss of the axe. Urial owes me a debt of ruin, and I mean to collect it tonight. If I die in the attempt, then I will do it with a blade in my hand and blood in my teeth! Now go,” Malus said, draining his cup once more. “Rest yourselves. We meet at Nagaira’s tower tonight after the rising of the fog.”
As one, the retainers bowed and moved to the door. Silar was the last to depart. “Do not tarry long in the Wastes, my lord,” he said with a rueful grin. “There may be nothing left of us upon your return.”
“I know, noble Silar,” Malus answered. “But fear not. I have a long long memory and a pitiless heart. Whatever evil Urial wreaks on you I will repay him a hundredfold.”
Silar paused at the doorway, considering the highborn’s words. Then, reassured, he left to see to his duties.
Chapter Six
FORSAKEN HALLS
The night brought heavy clouds and a cold wind whistling through the spires of Hag Graef. More than a hundred feet above the castle courtyards, a heavily cloaked figure leaned slightly from a recessed doorway and studied the two bright moons gleaming over the eastern horizon.
After a moment, a patch of iron-grey cloud slid across the face of the moons, plunging the fortress into abyssal darkness. Without a sound the cloaked figure leapt from the doorway and glided like a spectre across the narrow stone bridge. Seven similarly cloaked figures followed, seemingly heedless of the vast gulf yawning beneath them. By the time the moons had shed their gauzy shroud the procession had disappeared into the tower at the other end of the span.
Once inside Nagaira’s tower, Malus pulled back his woollen cowl and scrutinised the small group waiting for him in the passage just beyond the doorway. Tonight, he and his retainers were dressed for war: beneath the heavy, dark cloaks each druchii wore an articulated breastplate and a mail skirt over his dark leather kheitan. Pauldrons protected their shoulders, lending them a bulkier, more imposing silhouette, while their arms and legs were sheathed in articulated vambraces and greaves. Each piece of armour rested on a layer of felt to muffle the rattle of joints and plates and to help insulate the body from the cold steel. Malus and two of his retainers carried repeating crossbows under their cloaks along with their customary swords.
Nagaira’s warriors were similarly equipped, surrounding their mistress like baleful crows. Several carried short throwing spears of a type Malus had never seen before, while others carried small repeating crossbows. They eyed the heavily-armed interlopers with clear suspicion — all but Dalvar, who spun one of his stilettos on an armoured fingertip and grinned mockingly at the newcomers.
Like Malus, Nagaira wore plate armour over her kheitan and robes and carried two swords at her hip. The bookish diffidence was gone, and Malus was surprised to see how much she resembled her fearsome father. She held out a gauntleted hand draped with seven leather thongs; from each thong hung a glittering object of silver and crystal the size of a druchii thumb.
“Wear these somewhere against your skin,” Nagaira said, her voice sharp and commanding. “Once we are inside the tower, touch nothing unless I say so.”
Malus took the talismans without a word, picked one for himself and passed the rest on to his companions. On close inspection, each talisman was a small silver fist clutching a ball of crystal. The irregular crystal had somehow been fractured in such a way as to create a complex spiral within the centre of the stone. The silver hand was etched with dozens of tiny runes that defied easy identification. When he tried to focus on one, Malus’ eyes began to blink and water as though someone had blown a handful of sand into them. He gave up trying after a moment and slipped the thong around his neck, then carefully tucked the talisman under the lip of his breastplate. It dug into his chest just underneath the armour plate and felt like a piece of trapped ice.
Nagaira watched carefully to make sure that each of the druchii followed her instructions. Once she was satisfied, she said, “The entrance to the burrows is fairly close by. Once we’re in the tunnels, stick close and keep your weapons ready. There are wild nauglir roaming down there, and worse. It won’t take long to reach the tunnels underneath Urial’s tower, but we may have to do some digging once we get there.”
The last part brought Malus up short. “We might have to do some digging? You don’t know anyone who’s used this approach before?”
N
agaira shrugged. “I don’t know for certain that the entrance even exists. In theory, it should.”
“In theory?”
“You would rather storm the ground floor entrance, or climb the tower wall in full view of half the fortress?”
Dalvar’s mocking grin widened. Malus dreamed of peeling the skin from his shrieking face. “Lead on,” he hissed.
With a smug half-bow, Nagaira turned on her heel and led the raiding party down the long stairs to the ground floor of the tower. Like all the spires in the drachau’s fortress, the tower could only be entered through a single pair of reinforced double doors that opened onto a short corridor leading deeper into the castle complex. When they reached the doors, Malus was surprised to find four of Nagaira’s retainers in full armour, holding naked swords in their hands. Nagaira caught the expression on the highborn’s face and gave a wolfish grin.
“I can’t guarantee that Urial doesn’t have agents of his own in my household,” she said, pulling her cowl over her head. “So Kaltyr and his men are going to ensure that no one leaves the tower until dawn.” With that, she led the party out into the castle proper.
Over hundreds of years, the drachau’s fortress — also referred to as the Hag by residents of the city — had grown almost like a living thing. Dwarf slaves were expensive and relatively rare, so many years could pass between opportunities for needed repairs and additions.
When a part of the castle fell into ruin, other sections were built over and around the wreckage, creating a madman’s labyrinth of chaotic passageways, abandoned towers and walled-off courtyards. What had begun as a relatively small citadel with a single octagonal wall now covered more than a square mile of land and possessed four concentric defensive walls, each one built to enclose a new wave of expansion. It was said that no one person knew the fortress in its totality; new servants were often sent on errands into the sprawling grounds and not found again for days, if at all.