Chapter 7 - A Test Of Faith

“Mother?” Tagada said.

It was as if a weight was off his shoulders. He’d been so unsure since she and father had died in the raid. It was part of why he’d taken up the pilgrimmage. To have her here, living still. Not only was it evidence of the glory of Sigmar, for her to have been lifted in his name. But also it meant that he had his mother back.

Maybe. A sense of unease crept into his gut.

There was no recognition in her eyes, her face a rictus of rage. She began to stalk towards him.

Tagada scanned around. All of the manor’s warriors were dead, dying, or fleeing. In moments the fire would block the doorways.

“Mother? It’s me, Tagada!”

A low growl emanated from her throat. It was the sound of an enraged beast rather than a woman.

This couldn’t be. He’d been asking Sigmar for a sign. Surely this was the sign he sought. He hadn’t known beforehand, but it was certainly the sign he desperately wanted.

“Mother, don’t I want…”

With no warning, she charged him.

Despite her sigmarite plate armour, she was incredibly swift. He leapt backwards and sparks came off the floor where her sword met the infernal runes.

She swung her staff and Tagada dove under the burning table. He heard the wood shudder and crack above him as her stave of office slammed into the wood.

He scrambled out the other side. The exits were blocked. If he’d ran instead of trying to talk to her, he’d be out by now. Or trapped in a hallway somewhere, he conceded. Fires, especially in Aqshy, always traveled faster than you thought.

The comet on the wall opposite the bay window was burning too, its twin tails starting to turn black with the heat. He had an oddly lucid thought that it had never looked more like a twin tailed comet streaking through the sky when a grunt and the subsequent shattering of wood brought him back to reality.

She stepped forward through the hole she’d made in the table and swung again.

Tagada jumped to the side and grabbed one of the chairs, throwing it at her. The stormcast, his mother, swatted it aside and screamed.

He was stuck in here with a madwoman. A mockery of the noble soul he’d known all his life. And there was no way out. He started coughing in the smoke.

Even with the debacle of the tribe succession, he’d always believed he’d been destined for greatness. It was one of the reasons he’d started this pilgrimmage - to figure out where and how he would meet it.

To die here, at the hands of his mother no less. This wouldn’t cut it.

He grabbed another chair and hurled it, and insults, at her. “Jrayana! How could you! Your own son! You’re no better than everything they said about Ghur savages!”

She started stalking towards him.

He desperately looked around. He needed out. There was the servants’ hallway, the hallway he’d come through, the bay window, the burning comet, the … the bay window. He threw his sword at his mother, grabbed a chair and hurled it through the window.

Shattered bits of glass rained down. There was a whoosh as extra air flooded into the room and caused the flames to roar even higher. He turned and sprinted for the windows.

He heard the sound of pounding footfalls and a snarled curse over the inferno behind him.

Tagada leapt into the air and through the window and gave his jump all the power that the lantern’s light had left in them.

As he hurtled towards the roiling sea below, he offered up a quick prayer to Sigmar that his jump would clear the rocks. That the water wouldn’t boil him alive. That he’d be able to find his way to the surface without the light of hysh to show him which way was up. That his mother would survive the fire.

And an odd thought occurred as the black water came rushing out to meet him, especially given all that had happened - at least he’d had a chance to eat dinner.