It hadn’t been Anruil Brighteyes’ best day, but he was satisfied all the same. How could he not be? The Expedition had succeeded on every front. Tsatraya was secure from the living and the dead, a new base of operations for the war on Bykaal. Han Shizhong had been obliterated- the details of that engagement were still filtering in, but all agreed that the rogue Stormcast would threaten them no longer. And the vaults of Old Dyunsk were cleared, and an agreement penned that at least on paper would solve their problems.
And yet all the day’s victories felt like half-measures. Tsatraya might belong to them, but the Ghyrplunge was still beyond their grasp, and while it laid in enemy hands they were chronically short-stocked. Han Shizhong was gone, but his demise hadn’t answered any questions about how one of Sigmar’s reforged sons could fall so far as to take up arms against his brethren. And even though the children of Nagash had promised many things they had taken the only thing of value from the vaults, and all he was left as a guarantee was the fickle promises of the Seraphon.
All told, it hadn’t been a bad day. Still, he hoped the next one would be better.
—
Arali Heartsbane couldn’t remember a day that had gone better, and yet she was strangely unsatisfied. How could she not be? The Pilgrimage had won a great victory, and yet it felt hollow all the same. From where she sat on the walls of the Temple she could see fields still strewn with corpses, a rare feast for bird and beast and ghoul alike. Inside, she knew, the High Apostolic Sanguine was packing Teclis’ lost treasure for transport, a gem like few others the Realms could boast. Both the hordes of Chaos that hunted these shores had been put to flight, and the primacy of the Pantheon asserted in terms none could deny.
Even so, a part of her said, no one in Azyrheim would sing their deeds. She had won every fight except for the one that mattered- except for the war over the hearts and minds of the watching Realms. It mattered, far more than she let on- they had come as conquerors in the name of many gods, but they were still looked on as thieves and bandits. All the prizes in the world meant nothing if there were none to appreciate it. That would have to change before they could really claim to be victorious here.
All told, it had been a very good day. Still, she hoped the next one was better.
—
The warm light of the Tsatraya beacon swept over Anruil’s back, and he smiled to himself. That, at least, was a clear victory. The… ‘Sparkles’? had succeeded in restoring the beacon even before his armies were ready to mount their assault on Tsatraya’s walls. The light seemed to have a soothing effect on the spirits gathered in its wake, removing the danger he’d feared from angry geists haunting the darkened streets at night. He wondered who they might have been in life- sailors, soldiers, merchants, fisherman? Husbands, wives, parents and children? What had their dreams been, before they’d become shadows to be enthralled by a beam of light? And were any of his old comrades among them even now?
—
Arali couldn’t see the beacon from her perch, but she knew it was there, ever-mocking, like an unblinking eye. That was their only defeat. Had she defeated her sire’s weakling spawn on top of taking the engine, none could possibly have dismissed them so casually… she stamped down an old, familiar bitterness. She could never fault her followers for not doing enough, not after the victory today. It was bitter all the same.
Worse still was the news from the Ghyrplunge. A party of Anruil’s partisans had tried to storm the Realmgate in a Kharadron airship. At least one of them had made it, if the reports were to be believed. She wondered what lies and slander the fugitive was telling the leadership of Amasya even now. Again, she swallowed the dark emotions before they boiled over, keeping them sequestered to unleash on her foes. Let the messenger say what they would- the lords of Amasya and Hammerhal and Sigmaron itself would have no choice but to acknowledge them when they presented the prize they’d wrested back from the minions of the Dark Gods.
—
The light would fall dark if his half-sister had her way, though. Even as they had held the Pilgrimage at bay, she’d sent her saboteurs to destroy the beacon and turn the city into a deathtrap, and it was a near-miracle they’d stopped Torag Tome-Eater’s bomb-laden gnoblars at all. Even now, his forces were still uncovering hidden explosives, meant to bring the ruins down around them- he breathed a silent prayer of gratitude to Sigmar Heldenhammer that none had detonated by mistake.
They would have their justice, though. An underhanded blow like that destroyed any claim to authority that the so-called Pilgrimage might have once held. Even now, he hoped, the good soldiers calling themselves the Dreamseed were in Amasya, laying bare his half-sister’s crimes. To atone for them, Arali would have to surrender her looted Enlightenment Engine to the soldiers of Teclis in his ranks, or else face the wrath of the Expedition united against her.
—
The Engine wasn’t the only spoils they would take from the Temple, though. Even as they’d attacked Nyuranka, they had heard a bell ringing inside- joining the Cathedral’s instrument in thunderous melody. If the Cathedral bell could wake the dead, who knew what this one could do? There was a harbor carved into the rock below, filled with long-deserted ships. Perhaps the vessels could be returned to life. Perhaps other secrets still lay hidden in the depths. Nyuranka was still a source of strength, as the Ghyrplunge before it, and she would not surrender it until all of its treasures were laid bare.
—
Han Shinzong and the spirits weren’t the only threats they faced on Bykaal, though. He’d heard the tales- a new beast, rising from the depths to attack shipping, outposts, even locals. Some of his advisors theorized this… Orkkuh? Might be the primal spirit of the lake itself. Others thought it was a sea monster of the Age of Myth, roused to wakefulness by the war, by the beacon’s light, by the life-bearing waters of Ghyran. What particularly it was was a question for the scholars of Azyrheim to answer later. For now, it needed to die.
—
There were many victories behind them, Arali Heartsbane decided, but much war yet to come. A full measure of glory had been won, and measures more remained to be drunk deeply.
—
For the first time in centuries, he felt the warm glow of light, and swam towards consciousness. He was standing on a field of ice, watching as the great beacon spun in the distance. All around him stood spectral figures like himself, similarly entranced by the memory of life.
He breathed in, and then exhaled, feeling the cold wash through his body, feeling his limbs ache and senses and wits return to him. Death, it seemed, was much like life- full of the leaderless, the desperate, the gullible.
Anruil Althariel smiled. The game was in play again.
