CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Depths of the Fauschlag

Sigmar shoved himself to his feet and, Ghal Maraz in hand, backed away. The sphere shuddered like a sick animal. A moment later, it shattered and collapsed in on itself, leaving a swirling rift of energy in its place. The white had become black, and it hurt Sigmar’s eyes to look upon it. Howling winds sprang up, buffeting all those who remained in the chamber and pulling them towards the writhing void. Sigmar saw that he and the other Incarnates, along with Teclis, were the only living beings in the cavern; every elf and human who’d descended into the depths with them was dead. Sadness warred with relief. Better death than what would have awaited them in the void. The powers of the Incarnates protected them from the energies now filling the cavern, but mortals would have been swept away within moments of the rift’s explosion.

All around him, the remaining daemons began to shudder and come apart. Their flesh ran like melted wax, and they were pulled, drop by drop, into the maw of the void. The fitful pulses which had marked the sphere were gone, replaced by an ominous rumble whose intensity grew with every passing moment. Sigmar turned away from the rift and began to force his way towards the other Incarnates, fighting the pull of the wind with every step.

The rock beneath his feet ran like water in a whirlpool, its hue and shape changing from one second to the next. Leering faces formed in the shifting stone, and vanished as soon as he looked at them. All around the chamber, the laws of nature were coming undone as the raw stuff of Chaos leaked into the world through the rift.

‘We were too late,’ Malekith snarled as Sigmar reached them. The Eternity King had to shout to be heard over the wind. He supported Teclis, and one of the mage’s arms was flung over his shoulder.

‘No,’ Gelt shouted. ‘No, we have not lost, not yet.’

‘What can we do?’ Alarielle screamed. She leaned against Tyrion, and Sigmar could tell from her face that she felt every single one of the torturous changes the cavern was undergoing. ‘It is but a trickle now, but it is growing stronger with every passing moment. We cannot hope to contain it!’

‘WE MUST. WE WILL,’ Nagash thundered, facing the void. ‘THIS WORLD IS MINE. NAGASH WILL NOT FALL. NAGASH CANNOT DIE. I WILL NOT. NOT AGAIN.’

‘He’s right,’ Sigmar said. He looked at Teclis. ‘If we combine our magics, as we did against the warpflame barrier, will it be enough?’

‘I – I do not know,’ Teclis said, shaking his head. The elf struggled to stand on his own, and pushed away from Malekith. He held his staff and leaned against it. ‘The Winds of Aqshy and Ghur, they are lost…’

‘They are not lost,’ Tyrion said. ‘I – we – can all feel them still. They are here, with us.’ He looked at his brother. ‘We must try, brother. Else what was it all for?’

Teclis stared at his brother in silence for a moment, his robes rippling in the shrieking wind. Then he nodded. ‘You are right, brother. You are always right.’

‘Except when I’m wrong?’ Tyrion said, smiling.

‘Even then,’ Teclis said, grinning. He shook his head. ‘You know what to do. The winds know their task, and they will guide you in the doing of it. I will try to bend Ghur and Aqshy to it as well. Even without hosts, they will be of some use.’

Sigmar looked at the others, and then, as one, they spread out, moving to the edge of the void. As they approached the roaring maelstrom, each Incarnate summoned the last vestiges of their power, and flung it forth, seeking to cage the uncageable. Sigmar groaned as the lightning crackled from him to spend its fury on the swirling rift. The void sought to draw the power from him, as Archaon had done at Averheim, and it took every ounce of his remaining strength to prevent it. He clutched Ghal Maraz in both hands and drew the lightning tight, focusing his will through the ancient hammer.

He saw Teclis set his staff, at the centre of the line, and begin to draw the Winds of Fire and Beasts into himself. He was not a suitable host for either, let alone both, and the winds struggled against him. Sigmar watched helplessly as the elf’s flesh began to boil and peel. What Teclis was attempting was a death sentence, but they had no other choice. Our lives for that of the world. That’s a fair bargain, he thought. He gritted his teeth against a sudden surge of pain. A light was growing in the chamber, as each of the winds was pitted against the audient void. And then, against all probability, the rift began to shrink.

We’re doing it, Sigmar thought. Gods of my fathers, wherever you are now, help us last just a little longer. Give us all strength. His body shuddered, and he felt as if the meat of him might separate from his bones. Smoke rose from the head of Ghal Maraz as he poured bolt after bolt of celestial lightning into the yawning abyss.

Something flickered, just out of the corner of his eye. He twitched his head to the side, and his eyes widened as he saw a familiar shape detach itself from the dark at the edges of the cavern and rush forwards silently. Sigmar flung out his hand. ‘No!’

Balthasar Gelt turned at Sigmar’s cry, but his reply was lost as Mannfred von Carstein’s sword erupted from his chest. The wizard was lifted off his feet by the vampire’s blow, and a beam of golden light sprang from his limp frame and vanished soundlessly into the void. ‘Mine,’ Mannfred howled. ‘The power will be mine. Even as this world is mine.’

Teclis, seeing the loss of Chamon, stretched out a hand, as if to grasp the Wind of Metal and haul it back from the abyss, but the effort was too much for him. Sigmar watched in horror as Teclis of Cothique, High Loremaster of Ulthuan, was ripped apart by the triumvirate of magical winds, and reduced to swirling ash. Even as Teclis perished, the rift gave an ear-splitting shriek and, in a flare of inky black light, tore free of the Incarnates’ control. Sigmar was flung back across the cavern, and he struck the ground hard. The other Incarnates had suffered similar fates, or had retreated at the first convulsion of the rift.

As Sigmar picked himself up, he saw that only Mannfred and Nagash were left standing next to the rift, and the vampire gesticulated at the liche, his feral features twisting in triumph. ‘Vlad told me to pick a side, and I have, master. Better to be the right hand of anarchy, than the slave of Nagash. Walach was right, the blood-soaked fool. Aye, and Kemmler as well. You are nothing but a disease, Nagash… a plague on all the world, and with this power, I shall drive your midnight soul into the void forever. And it shall be me who rules this world, and rides its corpse into eternity. The world shall have a new Undying King, and you shall be forgotten!’

The vampire spun towards the rift, and, as Teclis had, he thrust out his hands, as if to draw the winds to him. Instead, however, it was the raw substance of the rift which answered his call. It washed over him, and Mannfred’s laughter degenerated into a scream as he staggered back, his flesh smoking.

The rift flared and Sigmar added his screams to those of Mannfred, as did all of the remaining Incarnates. The void tore the winds loose from their hosts and drew them into itself. Sigmar thrashed as the celestial magics of Azyr were dragged from him a second time, and sucked into the nightmare abyss. He collapsed, his body trembling, and his strength gone. He saw the other Incarnates fall, one by one.

Nagash was the last. For long moments, the Undying King stood unbowed against the howling void and his own dissolution, as the magics that had given him form slowly unravelled. He fought against the void, as if determined to wrench back the Wind of Death through sheer will. Then, at last, the Great Necro­mancer threw back his head and screamed desolately one final time before he suffered Teclis’s fate and was torn apart by the swirling energies.

As the ashes of his former master were swept into the void, Mann­fred staggered blindly away from the rift, clawing at his seared flesh. He ranted and railed in a language Sigmar did not recognise, and called out for people who were not there. Sigmar tried to push himself to his feet, but he lacked the strength. He heard the scrape of steel on stone, and turned to see Tyrion lurch to his feet, sword in hand.

Mannfred did not notice Tyrion’s approach until the last moment, and as he whirled, fangs agape, Tyrion slammed his sword up through the vampire’s belly and into his black heart. Mannfred screamed and clawed at Tyrion’s arms as the elf lifted him off his feet. Sunfang flared as the magics forged into the blade awoke, and Mannfred thrashed as he burned to ashes from inside out. Tyrion jerked his blade free, and what was left of Mannfred von Carstein collapsed into ashes, to join those of Teclis and Nagash in the void.

As Tyrion stepped back, the cavern gave a great crack. The walls shifted and sickly yellow blood dripped down from the cracks. Vast sections of the cavern floor fell away, into nothingness. Boulders and stalactites fell like rain. Sigmar looked up as a great spill of rock tumbled down towards the Everqueen, and he shouted to Tyrion, who whirled about, but too late. The Everqueen would have perished there, had Malekith not lunged forward and thrown her clear, towards Tyrion’s reaching arms. The Eternity King vanished amidst the thundering downpour of rock a moment later.

Sigmar shoved himself to his feet, and took a staggering step towards the fallen rocks. If there was even a chance that Malekith might be saved, he intended to try. But as he drew close to the expanding edge of the rift, a dark shape rose out of the void and smashed into him.

He turned as Archaon lurched into him, the Everchosen’s fingers scrabbling for his throat. The Lord of the End Times roared incoherently as he battered at Sigmar, his words lost in the howl emanating from the ever-expanding rift. Sigmar smashed him down with Ghal Maraz, but he was on his feet a moment later, reaching out to grab the haft of the hammer. The two men struggled for a moment on the edge of the void.

Then, they were gone, lost amidst the swirling darkness.