GHOULSLAYER by Darius Hinks

Author:Darius Hinks
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2019-07-29T14:37:17+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE BARREN POINTS

The road headed south for a mile before it started to bend west and climb towards the stars. Gotrek walked just a few paces from the edge, staring out into the void and shaking his head. ‘What do you call these roads again?’ he asked, looking back at Lhosia.

‘These are the wynds,’ she replied. ‘This is the Great South Wynd, one of the largest highways in the princedom. From here we will pass the Sceptred Wynd and the Wynd of Foreknowing. Beyond that we will reach the Barren Points, home of Lord Aurun, Warden of the Northern Climbs. There we shall find Prince Volant.’

Gotrek nodded and looked back out from the road. ‘How are these things suspended? Sorcery?’

‘The wynds are the veins of the princedom. They are hung from the prominents.’

‘The prominents are your fortresses?’ asked Maleneth, studying the few lights that still shone on the horizon.

Lhosia nodded. ‘And our temples and homes. The greatest of them are vast. There are thousands of people in a fortress like the Barren Points or the Lingering Keep. There are many kinds of–’ She cut off mid-sentence and stared up at the empty tracts of ocean.

‘The Lingering Keep?’ asked Maleneth.

‘Morbium’s capital,’ said Lhosia, her voice flat. ‘Home of Prince Volant, and home to the Amethyst Princes since the dawn of time.’

Gotrek was still gazing out at the lonely lights of the temples. ‘So the roads are hung from your cities, but what keeps the cities afloat?’

‘The Unburied,’ said Lhosia, touching the cocoon she carried. ‘We preserve our ancestors, and they, in turn, loan us their immortal power, feeding life into the prominents. Or at least, that’s how it has always been until now.’

They trudged on in silence for a while, the only sound coming from Trachos’ twisted boot as he dragged it along behind him. After walking for a few hours, his limp had become even more pronounced. Maleneth imagined he would like to rest but was too proud to ask. The thought of his stoical, grimacing silence made the journey slightly more entertaining.

Every dozen yards or so, they passed another corpse – either a dismembered ghoul, one of the knights in a flamboyant, feathered cloak or one of Morbium’s civilians – pale, emaciated wretches like Lhosia, dressed in white or dark purple robes. Every one of the corpses was surrounded by a mobile shroud of tiny moths that scattered when Maleneth and the others approached, filling the darkness with movement and noise. It took a few minutes for Maleneth to realise that one of the bodies up ahead was still moving, trying to fend off the moths.

‘Gotrek,’ she said, nodding towards the struggling shape.

He nodded and veered back into the centre of the road, slinging his axe from his back as he reached the man.

When the Slayer hauled the terrified wretch to his feet, Maleneth recognised his face. ‘The gatekeeper,’ she laughed. ‘You didn’t get far.’

‘Traitor!’ cried Lhosia, barging past Maleneth to confront him. ‘How dare you abandon your post? If you had done your duty, the mordants could have been halted.

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