Nagash: The Undying King (Warhammer Age of Sigmar) by Josh Reynolds

Author:Josh Reynolds [Reynolds, Josh]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-12-24T16:00:00+00:00

Seven

THE CROSSING

Nagash still endures.

While he stands, his enemies shall not prevail.

Where he strides, all schemes will come undone.

Where he sets his standards, so shall victory be assured for those who follow him.

Heed the words of Nagash.

– The Epistle of Bone

Tamra watched as children chased each other across the ruined forecourt, scattering what few goats and chickens remained in their heedless flight. She smiled, thinking of the days when she and Sarpa had done the same. The smile faded as quickly as it had come, and her hand fell to the pommel of his sword.

Even now it was warm with the touch of the lightning which had claimed him. Better the lightning than the plague-fire, perhaps. But he was gone either way. Sarpa was gone. Nagash was gone. The world was dying. She could feel it every time she called up the dead, or spoke to the spirits. It was all winding down, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.

Free... us...

She closed her eyes and willed them to be silent, as Neferata had taught her. The Broken Kings subsided, if grudgingly. She would be glad when this was done, when she could leave this place and its captive spirits. Let them howl into the wind, if they wished. So long as she didn’t have to hear it. Sighing, she looked up. The forecourt led to the seaward gate, and past it the ruins of the once-great docks were visible. The prows and masts of broken ships jutted from the ice like tombstones. In the dull light of midday, the Shivering Sea seemed to stretch on into an infinity of white and grey.

Somewhere, on the other side of infinity, were the Rime Isles: desolate, empty of all human life and far from the reach of the enemy. It was no wonder that Bolgu and the Fenn wished to flee there. The isles could support the Rictus, though only crudely. They could rebuild, grow and even prosper. Or perhaps that was nothing more than an idle fancy – if even these harsh lands had been invaded, was anywhere truly safe?

She walked as she thought. Warriors nodded as she passed and murmured respectful greetings. Clansfolk offered her choice cuts of meat, jugs of goat’s milk and scraps of fine cloth as a show of ritual deference. She thanked them but refused their gifts, as was custom. The people did not serve their voivode. The voivodes served their people.

Outside the walls of the Mandible, the full force of the winter wind plucked at her. She shivered and pulled her coat close as she passed through the tumbledown wreckage of a once-proud city. She could smell the midden pits and the plague tents beyond them. The rotbringers sowed sickness on the wind, and some of the Rictus had fallen ill as they fled their lands. The sick were housed in tents far back from the walls, where they awaited their turn for their souls to be granted the mercy of death, and their tortured flesh, the release of fire.

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