Malus Darkblade [05] - Lord of Ruin by Dan Abnett & Mike Lee

Author:Dan Abnett & Mike Lee [Abnett, Dan & Lee, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic, Fantasy, General, Fiction, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781844161959
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2007-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

THE TEMPLE OF TZ’ARKAN

The Chaos Wastes, first week of winter

Beyond the shadowy portal of the great temple an inky darkness awaited, pulsing with blasphemous power. It swirled and eddied about Malus as he staggered along the narrow processional, recoiling from the possessed druchii as if in supplication to the daemon that rode within him.

The temple was much changed since he’d last been inside. No, it was changing—potent energies coursed through the ponderous stones and prickled invisibly across his icy skin. Tz’arkan swelled painfully within the highborn’s tortured frame, and the forces at work within the great building responded, ordering themselves according to the daemon’s will.

Malus’ body moved of its own volition, driving him forward like one of the risen dead. At the far end of the processional he reached the temple antechamber. More than a hundred figures dressed in ceremonial robes lined the narrow aisle that ran through the large hall. The ancient forms had knelt in obeisance for so long that the bodies within had long since crumbled to dust, leaving behind only petrified shells of leather garments and rune-carved bone. He remembered the first time he’d seen these wretched figures, and how he’d wondered what sort of awful terror could have inspired the temple slaves to press their foreheads to the stone floor until they finally died.

Now he knew all too well.

His boot heels echoed forlornly along the dusty marble floor as he walked among the ranks of the damned. Suddenly he heard a rustling sound, like the crumbling of ancient parchment and the crackle of ruined leather, and his heart went cold as he saw the ranks of the temple servants slowly, jerkily straighten. Dust swirled within the depths of their drooping hoods, coalescing in the ghostly shapes of skeletal faces. Green globes of bale-light shone eerily from their shadowy eye sockets and their spectral mouths moved in silent adoration of their returning overlord. Ethereal hands brushed against his boots and the hem of his robes, and Tz’arkan’s cruel will measured his every step, basking in the horrid worship of those agonized souls. At the far end of the chamber corroded steel creaked wearily as the armoured shells standing guard over the chamber raised their rusting blades in salute. Green fires burned within the oculars of the guards’ helmets, and the runes worked into their Chaos armour crawled with sorcerous energies.

Do you see, Darkblade? This is but a glimpse of the glories to come. The dead will rise to do my bidding even as the living give their souls to sate my glorious appetites. These are but the smallest tastes of the wonders that could have been yours had you simply chosen to serve me.

On he went, past the tormented ghosts and into another large hall containing the altars of the four gods of the north. Behind each altar rose a horrific idol dedicated to one of the Ruinous Powers; Tz’arkan led Malus to the idol of Slaanesh and forced the highborn to his knees before the abominable figure.

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