Contents

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Fortress of Ghosts – Extract

Warhammer Adventures

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CHAPTER ONE

The Battlerock

As the sun sank, the seas of Shyish turned red as blood.

Kaspar stood on the quarterdeck of the huge black ship, staring out across the rolling waves. Dark shapes moved beneath the water, tentacles coiled to the surface and sank from sight, nested eyes glinting in the depths. Something large brushed against the side of the ship; he felt the deck tremble with the force of it.

On the outer rigging one of the deadwalker sailors lost his footing, bony fingers snatching at the ropes as he fell. He landed on his back in the water, empty eye sockets staring up. Then a dark form rose, black teeth bared in a rotted grey maw, a tattered fin hanging limp in the red light. The dead shark took the sailor in its gaping jaws, and Kaspar heard the crack of bones.

He turned away, his stomach roiling. They’d reached the Realm of Death three days earlier, passing through a Realmgate shaped like a giant water-tornado, which had swirled the ship and its crew up into the glittering skies of Chamon and dropped them with a splash into the Sea of Fading Hope, one of the vast oceans of Shyish.

Kaspar had felt queasy ever since, and not just from seasickness. The air felt heavy somehow, clammy and oppressive. The presence of all these walking corpses disgusted him; their rotting frames and bony hands, their grinning, empty skulls. Even the pyramid around his neck seemed to have grown heavier, its dragging weight reminding him of all the choices he’d made to get here.

But at least he could breathe free. Down on the main deck a large wooden crate stood lashed with rope. There were small holes in the top but no windows, no bars. His companions had been locked inside since Ashnakh had captured them, and he could only imagine how they’d been suffering. They’d survive, they were strong, but it must be miserable in there.

‘You don’t have to worry about them any more,’ Ashnakh said, and Kaspar started. She’d have made a good thief, he thought; she moved even more softly than he did. Perhaps it had something to do with being undead. ‘They made their choice. They chose to defy me and now they’re paying the price. We all are.’ She sighed bitterly.

‘I tried to stop Scratch from jumping,’ Kaspar said. ‘I failed you, mistress.’

‘That foolish, frightened child,’ the sorceress snarled. ‘How could he have been so reckless? And now all my work is ruined, all my plans come to nothing. All we can do is wait until another is called. Still, my lord is nothing if not patient.’

Kaspar shuddered. Ashnakh was doing all of this for her master, Nagash, the Lord of Death. It was for him that she’d tracked down the six marked children, luring them with the promise of finding their own mentor, Vertigan. But she’d pushed too hard and one of them had snapped: the feral boy known as Scratch had leapt over the railing of the ship, shocking them all. Now Ashnakh was determined to keep the rest of them imprisoned until another marked child was called, even if it took years.

The sun dipped below the horizon and in the stillness Kaspar heard the splash and slither of a million slimy things. A flock of ragged birds passed over, oily feathers clinging to their skeletal pinions, their hoarse moans echoing over the water. But they soared too low and a huge rotting tongue uncoiled from the ocean, lashing around one of the birds and dragging it, screeching, from the sky.

Then he saw a flash of light and raised his head. Ahead of them a vast shape rose from the water – a stony island, large and dark, hunched like a sleeping troggoth over the black sea. Pale mists gathered on its shores and in the depths he saw that light again, a golden flare glancing through the fog.

‘Is it a lighthouse?’ he asked. He’d read about them in a story once.

Ashnakh shook her head. ‘That is your new home. My Castle of Mirrors.’

She made a gesture and the fog banks parted, rolling back over the rugged rocks. On the clifftops a great spire was revealed, a tower so tall that its upper levels were still in sunlight, sending shafts of red light across the churning sea. But why were the light-beams moving? Kaspar shielded his eyes, took a closer look, and finally understood.

The Castle of Mirrors was aptly named – every part of it was constructed from vast sheets of glass, each one bigger than the last. But somehow they were floating free, unconnected to one another, the entire structure slowly revolving. As they moved the mirrors caught the sun’s last radiance, casting it out into the evening air in a glancing dance of ghostly light.

He gripped the railing, remembering the vision Ashnakh had shown him, that night at the Arbour. The castle was terrifying but it was beautiful too, a sight more majestic than any he’d seen. He could barely imagine stepping inside it, but a part of him couldn’t wait to.

He heard the crash of waves and the creak of timbers, and as they drew closer to the island he saw the wrecks of sunken ships on either side, broken prows jutting from the water. A figurehead rose, sculpted like a warrior woman, but so rotten now that her eyes were black holes, her mouth a twisted grimace.

The corpse sailors worked the ropes, lowering the sails with a snap and a creak. One of them got his foot caught, and tried desperately to pull himself free as he was dragged towards a spinning winch. But it was too late: the rope snapped as the deadwalker flew to pieces, his skull skittering across the deck.

Then there was a thump, and the ship stopped dead. Peering over the railing Kaspar saw a stone pier clinging to the cliff face. Ropes dropped from the side of the ship, lashed to the jetty by gangs of skeletal dock workers. They had arrived.

On the deck he saw deadwalkers swarming all over the wooden crate, tying ropes and tightening chains. It rose into the air, lifted by a large crane-arm that swung out over the dock. Kaspar heard a muffled cry and turned away.

‘Come,’ Ashnakh said, taking his arm. They descended the gangplank, Kaspar’s stomach turning as he touched solid ground. Above him he saw the crate swinging off the dock, being lowered onto a wooden cart.

Ashnakh raised her hands, weaving them in the air and whispering soft words. Against the cliff wall Kaspar saw a pile of white fragments. He’d thought they were pale pieces of stone, but now they began to rise, floating and spinning. They were bones, he realised, legs and ribs and skulls, all coming together to form a pair of large, four-legged shapes, their heads bowed as they faced Ashnakh.

She clicked her tongue and the skeletal horses stepped forward, their hooves clopping on the stone jetty. One approached Kaspar, lowering its fleshless snout. A saddle was placed on its back and Ashnakh gestured, mounting her own steed. ‘It won’t bite,’ she said. ‘Unless I want it to.’

Kaspar looked into the horse’s empty eye socket and tried to understand. Did the creature know what it was, or if it was? Was there a mind in there, or a soul? Might this be his fate some day, to be a collection of bones enslaved to Ashnakh, unable to think for himself?

Shivering, he took hold of the bridle, hoisting himself up. Ashnakh’s horse advanced and Kaspar followed, looking down through the creature’s undulating ribcage to the stones beneath. A whip cracked and the cart drew in behind them, pulled by a line of straining deadwalkers.

A path wound across the cliff, just wide enough for the cart and its unsteady burden. Light shimmered below and Kaspar realised that the track was made from fragments of shattered glass, reflecting the light of the rising moon. Then they reached the top, and he looked out over the scorched landscape of the island.

‘Its name is the Battlerock,’ Ashnakh said. ‘And it is my dominion.’

In the far distance the ground rose, a bare ridge crossing the centre of the island. To Kaspar’s left the Castle of Mirrors stood tall on the cliff edge, dark panes circling. All around it lay a dense layer of mist, hugging the foot of the tower and coiling outwards in every direction. The path led towards it, vanishing into the gloom.

‘Stay close, and do not stray,’ Ashnakh told Kaspar as they approached the fog bank. Tendrils of vapour coiled around the horses’ hooves. ‘This is no ordinary mist. We are entering the Shatterglass Labyrinth, there are spells here to confuse the mind and baffle the senses. If you lose yourself, even I might not be able to find you again.’

Shapes rose on either side, dark walls closing them in. But these were not stone barricades, Kaspar saw – they were formed from shards of broken glass, huge fractured panes reflecting the moon, and the mist, and each other. The track split and split again, countless small ways branching from the wider path. But Ashnakh held her course, her undead steed moving slowly, purposefully through the fog.

Kaspar shivered, imagining what it would be like to lose himself in that pale, drifting emptiness. Then he heard a sound and turned sharply. It was a shout, or many shouts, muffled by the mist. It came again and he heard the clash of swords, and the fearful whinnying of horses. In the mirrors he saw movement – the spectral forms of warriors, almost lost in the shadows.

‘The Battlerock is aptly named,’ Ashnakh told him. ‘There was a mighty conflict here once, and its echoes still remain. Two vast armies came together, fighting so long and so hard that when they were done nothing was left alive, not an insect, not a shrub, not a blade of grass. And so it remains, centuries later. This is a dead place.’

‘But why here?’ Kaspar asked. ‘Why fight over this lump of rock?’

‘Because of that,’ Ashnakh said, pointing between the mirrored walls, above the shifting fog, towards the centre of the island. At first Kaspar could see nothing, just the stony ridge lifting towards the clouds. But then he saw a purple shimmer in the air above it, rising from the dark stones.

‘A Realmgate,’ he said. ‘The one that links to Rawdeep Mere!’

Ashnakh smiled. ‘Clever boy. This island is of huge strategic importance, that is why my lord Nagash entrusted it to me. And he gave me a purpose, too. A prize to win, a city to claim. My home.’

‘Lifestone,’ Kaspar said. ‘This is where your army marched from.’

‘It is,’ Ashnakh nodded. ‘And very soon, you will understand why.’

She tugged on the reins and the skeletal steed halted, the cart grinding to a stop behind them. One of the undead hauliers took out a crowbar, plunging it into a crack in the side of the crate. He heaved and the side wall worked loose, dropping with a crash. For a long moment there was silence. Kaspar felt his heart pound.

Then Thanis and Kiri jumped down together, arms linked as they hit the ground. They looked at the mist surrounding them, the mirrored walls rising, the deadwalkers standing in dumb silence. Then they saw Ashnakh and Kaspar, and Thanis’s eyes flashed with loathing.

‘So this is Shyish,’ Alish said, clambering down behind them.

Elio followed, shivering. ‘It’s pretty much what I expected. Cold, dreary.’

‘And full of evil things,’ Thanis added, her eyes still on Kaspar.

Ashnakh snorted. ‘Look around you, children. The Battlerock is a place of wonders. Witness, my Castle of Mirrors.’

They peered up at the great tower, shimmering in the moonlight. Alish’s mouth fell open but she shut it again quickly.

‘Personally,’ she said, ‘I preferred the Kharadron sky-city.’

‘Or the Elmheart Glade,’ Elio agreed. ‘That was much more impressive.’

‘Silence!’ Ashnakh snapped. ‘You are in the heart of the Shatterglass Labyrinth, a place from which there is no escape. Here you will wait until I have need of you again.’

Kiri looked around, then back up at Ashnakh. ‘So you want us to just wander about? That doesn’t sound so bad.’

Ashnakh smiled, waving a hand. ‘Yes, be my guest. Roam. Explore. Lose yourselves in the labyrinth. There is no way out, though I know that won’t stop you from searching. Oh, but you should know one thing. You’re not alone.’

She coiled her fingers and the mist shifted around them, swirling upwards from the ground, forming dark and nebulous shapes. Kaspar felt a chill in his bones, a heaviness in his heart. He heard a wail and the rattle of chains.

‘My nighthaunts,’ Ashnakh whispered. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’

Spectral shapes emerged from the mist like something from the deepest nightmare. They were hooded figures, with long, bony arms and skull-like faces. Each was wrapped in clanking chains, and some also carried weapons – notched swords, rusted daggers and long-bladed scythes.

Thanis gritted her teeth. ‘You won’t let them kill us,’ she said. ‘You need us alive to perform this ritual of yours.’

Ashnakh’s smile broadened. ‘No, they won’t kill you,’ she admitted as the spectres closed in. ‘But of course, murder is not a chainghast’s specialty.’

‘Wh… what is?’ Alish asked as the rattling grew louder.

Ashnakh chuckled, and slowly her head turned. Kaspar looked up in surprise as her eyes fixed directly on his.

‘Fear,’ she said. ‘Fear is how I will control you.’

He felt a chill on his back, a shiver rising. Tearing his eyes from Ashnakh he looked over his shoulder and cried out in shock.

The nighthaunt had approached so silently that he hadn’t noticed it; now it was almost upon him, its rictus mouth open in silent laughter, its bone-fingered hands weaving as it came. The terror that gripped Kaspar was more intense than anything he’d ever felt: he could barely move, barely speak, waves of fear coursing like cold mercury through his veins.

‘Mistress, no,’ he managed. ‘Haven’t I done everything you asked of me? Haven’t I been faithful to you?’

Ashnakh snorted softly. ‘Of course you have, dear Kaspar. But one can never be too careful.’

The apparition reached out, and the last thing Kaspar heard before the darkness overcame him was his own voice, desperately shrieking.

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WARHAMMER ADVENTURES

First published in Great Britain in 2021.
This eBook edition published in 2021 by Warhammer Publishing,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Cole Marchetti.
Internal illustrations by Dan Boultwood & Cole Marchetti.

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ISBN: 978-1-80026-514-1

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