Razumov's Tomb by Darius Hinks Page B

mess and he laughed at the impossibility of his task. “Where?” he wondered aloud.
    “Land us somewhere!” cried the reiksgraf again, his voice shrill with madness.
    Gabriel took a deep breath and poured every ounce of his power into the town’s shattered foundations, slamming Schwarzbach down onto the ground.
    He did not have the faintest idea where he had taken them.

 
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN

    Caspar lay still for a while with his eyes closed, savouring the peace of his dreams. It must still be very early, he thought, so there was no harm in sleeping a little longer. Soon, the halls of the Celestial College would be full of noise and bustle as his fellow magisters began their work. His whole body ached with exhaustion and he realised he must have studied well into the night. Then a vague, unnamed dread began to gnaw at the edges of his mind. There was something essential he needed to do—some crucial task he had left unfinished. As his mind began to clear, his anguish grew. Why did he feel so hot? His skin was throbbing and tiny needles of pain were prickling his face. There was also an unpleasant sound, a banshee howl that tore through his dreams, forcing him back into the world. A face filled his thoughts. Caspar groaned as he saw Razumov’s necrotic grin. He remembered everything in a sickening flood.
    He opened his eyes and saw a raging sandstorm. He was slumped at the top of the drifting tower, his scorched robes snapping in the wind like a pennant. Below him was Schwarzbach—or at least, some of it. The square and its surrounding streets were carpeted in sand and, half a mile away, the cobbles and flagstones vanished completely, giving way to a fierce, swirling desert.
    Caspar groaned as he tried to sit up. Beyond the ruined buildings there was nothing but sand—endless, wind-lashed dunes, undulating into the distance beneath a bottomless azure sky. The hills and forests that should have surrounded the town had vanished. The Empire had vanished. A blazing southern sun now shone over the town, its light mingled with the sordid glow of Morrslieb.
    The wizard tried to speak, but his throat was so scorched that all he could manage was a hoarse croak.
    All around the square, dazed figures were picking themselves up from the ground and staggering through the spiralling clouds of sand. Monsters and knights stared out at the desert in equal confusion.
    The reiksgraf began herding his knights together, handing out weapons and shoving them back towards the steps of the town hall.
    Caspar shook his head at the man’s indomitable will. Even after being torn from reality and hurled to gods knew where, he was still trying to lead his knights to victory. He seemed unable to hold his head up properly and his arm was drenched in blood but, as he saw how few of the beastmen had made the journey with them, he let out a furious howl and raised his sword.
    “None of this matters!” he cried, his voice knifing through the sandstorm. He waved his sword at the desert. “Wherever we are, we are still sons of Sigmar! If this is where we make our stand, then so be it.”
    There was such passion in the reiksgraf’s voice that, despite everything they had been through, the knights began shuffling dutifully to his side, grabbing weapons from the ground, dusting sand from their armour and raising their weary heads.
    As the knights rallied to their general, the beastmen faltered. It quickly dawned on them that they were now outnumbered but, rather than grouping together, they flew at the knights in ones and twos, hurtling through the storm like daemons.
    As the noise of battle filled the streets once more, Caspar placed a hand on the ruined tower and smiled. The stones were still pulsing with magic and as it rushed through his fingers, he recalled how wonderful it had felt when he embraced it. He closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to slip free and dissolve into the storm. His mind spiralled up into the sky and, almost immediately, he