Stricken left the Crimson Palace in the company of Amotken, the sorcerer who had given him life after death; and Eyota, who he had learned was a princess from a long forgotten realm called the Sargassian Empire. He supposed that being a princess entitled her to some deference from the likes of him. But they were both dead, and in his mind that evened things up a little.

  She stared in apparent disbelief at the ground on which they walked. Signs of the old road which took them west were still visible if one looked for them. No doubt in her day it was all very different. But he did wonder when she was going to get over it. Otherwise, the three of them walked in silence. It suited Stricken fine. Prattle was one of the many things that set him on edge.

  They arrived at the Moors of Misery. Instead of returning to the hollow where Amotken had his silent army, they crossed the moors to the River Auster. They came upon a row of stones that had been placed across the river to make a crossing point. Neither of his companions commented as they walked to the opposite bank, making Stricken suspect it was another, almost invisible remnant of the Sargassian Empire.

  They walked into a dense forest. It felt old—like the trees had long ago blocked access to the sun, creating a dark and eerie environment for those who had to walk along the ground. The birds, meanwhile, high up in the branches, seemed to proclaim this wood was theirs.

  They came upon a building very different in construction to the palace, yet equally grand in its own way. The walls and peaked roof were constructed from cream coloured marble. Steps led to an archway, either side of which stood two hooded figures, carved from marble. Their hands were on the hilt of their swords, both blades pointing to the ground.

  The marble showed signs of wear from the elements, while the forest plants had dared to invade the structure. No one, it seemed, had tried to defend it.

  Amotken held a hand out, palm turned up, and a pale light appeared. He led them through the archway into the darkness of the building. They made a right turn, walking along a perfectly constructed corridor, the walls and ceiling made from cut marble. The sorcerer’s light revealed dark stains on the cream marble above finely worked sconces where torches had once burned. Now webs hung heavy from them.

  Shows no one has discovered this place, Stricken noted with a thief’s eye. Otherwise, those sconces would have been lifted years ago.

  They took steps that spiralled down to an underground level that had been divided into rooms and connecting corridors, with enough space to accommodate a substantial population. Grey stone replaced the marble here, but it had been cut with the same skill as the upper level.

  Amotken led them to a central square. The entire place was deserted. Stricken was never one to get the jitters—and that went double now he was dead. But this was the sort of place that would do it to you.

  ‘Thy father is down here,’ the sorcerer told Eyota, his voice sounding out of place amongst the stillness.

  They descended stone steps into a deeper darkness. Some of Stricken’s senses were reduced in death, but he could make out an earthy smell and a dampness that chilled the bones.

  Much of the space was given over to small storage rooms, but the room they entered was long and wide. Ten stone sarcophagi were aligned in two rows. Eight had their lids intact, while two were open and empty.

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  ‘When thou were killed, and the Crimson Palace was taken, we realised the empire had fallen. Our elven and dwarven allies gave up on us and sailed away. Emperor Sahale took his family, followers, and most important treasures here. Thy father didn’t abandon you either, princess. Thy body was carried here, along with a small number of the champions who fought by thy side.

  ‘The emperor placed a heavy duty on my shoulders—to find a way to preserve the empire. I worked on a solution day and night. In the end, I arrived at my plan. Thy father and his family I placed in a great slumber, in this very place. I would wake them when the time was right—when there was an opportunity to restore Sargassia to its glory.’ Amotken’s eyes wandered to the two empty caskets. ‘Alas, I was learning as I went, and my efforts were imperfect. I lost two of my charges. But I have kept thy father alive all these years.’

  ‘And what of me and the other fallen?’ Eyota asked him.

  ‘I had neither the knowledge nor the power to restore thee. Instead, I made four barrows, in which I placed the dead, along with the most precious treasures of the empire.’

  ‘Why four?’

  ‘I was spreading the risk. At that time, the future was hard to see. I protected the barrows with certain spells, powerful enough to keep them safe from the greenskin horde that plagued the land. They also served as an alarm. Should the barrows be breached, it would be a signal that creatures more intelligent than our foes had returned to Gal’azu.

  ‘No such alarm came. For years, I struggled alone, perfecting the secrets of prolonging life—for if I was to die, my plan would die with me. Then, also, I learned how to bring the dead back to life. I undertook thousands of failed experiments over the years. Eventually, small successes came. I was able to restore an increasingly greater part of individuals, until I produced creatures as advanced as Stricken here.’ He gestured to Stricken, who wasn’t sure whether he had been complimented or insulted. ‘But I couldn’t stop there. I had to be able to restore thee completely, Eyota, however much it cost me.

  ‘I perfected my art in between long sleeps. Then I was woken. The first barrow was breached. Something had changed in Gal’azu. When I investigated, I found humans had returned. They had pushed back the feeble descendants of our great enemy, claiming much of the land for themselves. Ignorant, of course, that their success would only make the greenskins stronger, and more determined to crush them.’

  ‘Their ignorance is immaterial,’ Princess Eyota said. ‘My father will lead them. But what of our treasures? Where is my sword, and armour?’

  ‘They have been claimed by these human explorers.’

  ‘What? What foolishness hast thou committed, Amotken?’

  ‘None. Because the humans will find us. Then I will bind them to our service—just like Stricken here. They will become our army—greater than it ever was, because our soldiers will be immortal. Thy sword and armour will be returned to thee, and thou will lead them against our foes.’

  Eyota approached Amotken and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thou have done well, sorcerer.’

  Her words had a strange effect on Stricken’s master. His face crumpled, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Stricken realised Amotken had been waiting for centuries to hear the princess speak such words to him.

  ‘Come,’ she said. ‘It is past time to wake my father. Get thy creature to help me.’

  Amotken nodded at Stricken, and he dutifully approached the sarcophagus. It was more elaborately decorated than the others, with coloured images and inscriptions. They shifted the stone lid across, before lifting it and placing it on the ground. Inside was no skeleton; a living man slept there.

  Stricken felt a pang of jealousy that a man born so long ago was still breathing, while he had become a lumbering corpse at the age of twenty-seven.

  Amotken’s magic was similar to that displayed in the Crimson Palace, except the effort required was nothing like that needed to give life to Eyota. There was a muttering, as if several beings were speaking in the deep blackness. White light enveloped the emperor. From the corner of his eye, Stricken caught sight of something black scuttling from the room.

  Then Emperor Sahale sat up.

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