The End Times: The Return of Nagash
- Автор: Рейнольдс Джош
- Год: 2014
- Язык: английский
- Год: Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd.
- Жанр: Боевая фантастика
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There had also been the beast-herds. Frothing, goat-headed beastmen had launched ambush after ambush, culminating in a final, bloody affray during a storm that Arkhan suspected was of no natural origin. During that battle, he had again seen the winged beast that he had first spotted in Quenelles. Clad in ragged robes, it had bellowed in a crude tongue as it tried to stem the inevitable retreat of the beastmen, once their courage had been broken by Arkhan’s spellcraft and the ferocity of the Drakenhof Templars, led by Erikan Crowfiend.
Arkhan had recognised his winged foe, in that moment before it too had fled. Like Mannfred, he had his spies and for years he had gathered information about the powers that might place themselves in his path. The thing called Malagor was a true servant of the Dark Gods, in the same way that he served Nagash. Its presence would have spoken volumes as to their intentions, if he did not already suspect their meddling.
With betrayal, and obstacles, however, came clarity. Misfortune had dogged his trail for months prior to coming to Sylvania. And not only his. Every being, however removed or reluctant, who might serve Nagash had seemingly been marked for death by the Chaos gods. When he had first begun to groom Mallobaude for his task, even providing for the would-be king to receive the blood-kiss of vampirism from an old, long-established Bretonnian line of the creatures, his stronghold of Mousillon had been beset by a horde of daemons. Though the creatures had gone on to assail the realm at large, Arkhan’s plans had nonetheless been interrupted. When he had arrived in Sylvania, he had learned that Mannfred had suffered similar attacks.
His study of the mystical wall of faith forged by Balthasar Gelt had also led him to wonder just how the wizard had come by the knowledge he’d used to forge the cage that now encompassed Sylvania. Brilliant as the Supreme Patriarch was, at least as far as mortals went, Arkhan couldn’t help but question the timing.
Sylvania had been a thorn in the Empire’s flank for centuries. Why suddenly move to contain it now? Unless, perhaps, Gelt was also an agent of the Dark Gods, in some capacity. Not an active, aware one of course, otherwise he could not have so effectively shackled the power of Sigmar. But he could easily be a pawn of other powers.
Had Kemmler been telling the truth – were the gods of Chaos so frightened of Nagash’s return that they were actively attempting to prevent it? Was Nagash truly so powerful that he incited such terror in entities as vast and as unknowable as the Dark Gods? And if so, what was Arkhan truly bringing back into the world? Was it the Nagash he remembered, the petty, spiteful, stubborn Undying King, who had killed his own people because they refused to bow… Or was it something even worse?
Arkhan looked down at his hands. They had been free of flesh for more years than he could count. He had sacrificed his mortality, his flesh and his hope on the altar of Nagash’s ambition. If it came down to it, he knew that he would sacrifice all that remained. He had no choice in the matter.
Or did he?
Elize von Carstein traced the rough bark of the dead tree with her fingers. The garden was empty, save for a few carrion birds perched here and there on the battlements. The castle itself was a hive of activity, as it had been since von Dohl’s failed assault a week earlier. The self-proclaimed Crimson Lord had ridden right up to the gates and demanded that Elize turn Sternieste and all of its treasures over to him.
Von Dohl had been accompanied by Cicatrix of Wolf Crag, and the heir of Melkhior, Zacharias. The Necrarch, in particular, had seemed unusually intent on getting into Sternieste’s vaults. When Elize had denied them entry, von Dohl had been beside himself with rage. The battle that followed had been brief but brutal.
Long-dead warriors had clashed amidst the barrow-fields as the Drakenhof Templars held their lord’s fortress against his enemies. She had duelled with Cicatrix atop the gatehouse, trading sword blows with the other woman. Von Dohl had ever let his harlot fight his battles for him, and he had only retreated when Elize had struck her shrieking head from her shoulders. What was left of Cicatrix still decorated one of the stakes mounted on the gatehouse battlements, and had greeted the master of Sternieste when he returned.
Arkhan the Black had returned a few days after the battle, and Mannfred not long before him. Their confrontation had been brief, and from what her spies claimed, heated, but now the great bells were tolling and the forces loyal to Mannfred were gathering. The time had come to take Heldenhame, and the murky air of the castle was tense with anticipation.
She heard Erikan Crowfiend enter the garden behind her. She knew it was him by the sound of his footsteps and the scent of him, sweet like overripe flowers or spoiling meat. She recalled that she had once tried to teach him how to use perfumes to mask his predator’s scent, but he had never taken to it. ‘Markos,’ he asked, simply. His voice tugged at her. It was not a purr or growl, but placid like the burr of treacherous waters.
‘Dead,’ she said. ‘Just like Anark.’ She dug her claws into the bark. Impossibly, the tree had begun to flower. Its skeletal branches were covered in putrid blossoms, which stank of rotting meat. She turned away from it, and fixed Erikan with her gaze. ‘Why didn’t you help him?’ she demanded.
‘And how would I have helped Markos? I wasn’t with him.’
‘Don’t play the fool,’ she snapped. ‘I meant Anark. Why didn’t you help him?’
‘Why should I have? He was attacking our ally – the very ally we were sent to protect, in fact,’ Erikan said. ‘He’s lucky I didn’t kill him myself.’
Elize snarled. ‘Are you truly so foolish? Do you understand what you’ve done? The liche is dangerous!’ She took a step towards him, her hands curling into fists. ‘What could possess you not to seize that opportunity?’
‘I did,’ he said, flatly.
‘Then why is he still here?’
Erikan smiled. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
Elize stared at him. For the first time in a long time, she was uncertain. She had thought that Erikan would have seized his moment and struck Arkhan down, as Anark kept him occupied. Surely, she’d thought, he would see what was so clear to her – if Nagash returned, they were doomed. Perhaps not immediately, but soon enough. She knew enough about the Undying King to know what it was he wanted, and how badly that would end for her kind. When the last mortal had died, what would they feed on?
Mannfred had likely never even considered that, she knew. He thought he could control the force he sought to unleash. But Arkhan knew better, and that made him more dangerous. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘Speak sense!’
‘Nagash must rise,’ Erikan said. ‘And I intend to see that he does. If that means I must keep the liche in one piece, so be it.’
Elize shook her head. ‘Are you mad?’
He was silent for a time. She wanted to grab him, and shake him, to force him to speak. But something in his gaze held her in place. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. ‘I think I have been. But I’m sane now.’ He reached for her, and she jerked back. He let his hand fall. ‘For the first time, in a long time, I see things as they are, rather than how I wish them to be.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Can’t you feel it, Elize? Can’t you smell it on the air?’ He looked at her. ‘Then, maybe it’s only obvious to someone who was raised by the eaters of the dead.’