EPILOGUE

Deep within the lightless, empty space that was the domain of Kyros, the Chaos Lord looked down upon the mortal realm, and sensed the balance of the fates as they shifted. Slowly but surely his prize had slipped from his grasp. Inside the city, as well as beyond the walls, the battle for Erengrad was now ended.

Kyros did not turn his face from defeat. He would drink it down, know its bitter taste and commit it to deep memory. For then vengeance, when it came, would taste all the sweeter.

And vengeance would come. The final victory would be his, as surely as the waves would return to fall upon the shore. All of this—Erengrad, Kislev and the blighted lands beyond—all of it had but one destiny. To be subsumed within the dominion of the Great Lord Tzeentch. The time of his coming might have been forestalled, but it would not be long denied.

Already, the picture was changing. Kyros now turned his gaze away from the gates of Erengrad, towards the shadowed deep of the forest and the lands that lay beyond, to the west. Towards the lone horseman riding hard for those lands, through the fields of the fallen dead. The speeding rider was not his to command and control; not yet. But the transformation had begun. Before long the dark flower would come to full bloom. Then a new champion of Tzeentch would walk the face of the world, and the world would know and fear his name.

Until then he must nurture his disciple, keep him safe from the spiteful intrusions of mankind. Kyros knew that Zucharov was being pursued, and in one of the pursuers he had recognised the seemingly unquenchable fire of an enemy that had already, time and again, stood in his way of his goal. For the moment, the hunter would become the hunted. But time was a river that flowed only one way. The flesh of all mortal men would weaken and yield. If Stefan Kumansky chose to pursue Zucharov, then let him. For he would be pursuing his own death.

Even as he set aside the conquest of Erengrad, Kyros was reaching out towards new, as yet unknown prizes. Prizes that would cast the loss of this miserable city into insignificance. The mortals could be vigilant, but their vigil could not stand forever. The fates would deal him another chance before long.

This day the battle had been lost. But it was just the first battle in a war that was only now beginning.

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proofing by Flandrel,
formatting and additional
proofing by Undead.