Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘All the Hammers of Sigmar are here?’

‘All, my Lord-Celestant,’ said Laudus. ‘Those who fell are reforged. We are ready for war again.’

They left the quenching chambers and came through obscure ways to the exposed surface of the Sigmarabulum. Once more it churned with industry. The quiet before their assault on Aqshy had been but a pause, and now the magics and machineries there worked hard again, healing and remaking those warriors who had fallen. Sigmar’s wizard-artisans and their helpers hurried about. They paid no attention to the demigods striding among them — such sights were unremarkable in this city of wonders.

The Sigmarabulum gave off a nervous energy that had a man frantic to be about his work, and it stank of hot metal and magical discharge. However, its odd animus could not blot out the wider world around it.

To their right loomed the sphere of Mallus, the world remnant. It had swollen in the wake of the Stormhosts’ first victories. The metal was glutted with magic, and the surface glinted with an iridescent sheen. To their left the heavens of Azyr opened. Nowhere in any realm was there a night sky more beautiful; it blazed with stars of all colours and sizes, jewels set upon sumptuous cloths woven from nebulae. Rising through it was the Celestial Stair, a slash of bright metal climbing impossibly high, its top anchored beneath the High Star Sigendil. A handful of Azyr’s many moons arced gracefully along their heavenly tracks, while the lands of the Celestial Realm slumbered below. Rivers glinted in lazy loops of beaten steel, and towns and villages were picked out by yellow dots of lamplight. Forests were seas of purplish black in the moonlight, and farmland an orderly miniature landscape wrought in silver.

Vandus looked down on the land, and part of him yearned to enjoy its peace. He never could — that much had been made clear to him — but he could protect it so that others might live and grow old there. He did not resent his duty.

‘This way,’ said Laudus. They approached a trio of small realmgates set off to the side of the main roadway in the shadow of a giant foundry, glinting with soft blue light. The Stormcasts walked through this shimmer and emerged into a different place. Cool night scents hit them and crickets chirred in the dark.

They were far above the forges and factories, upon the dark moon Dharroth. The Sigmarabulum was forged in the shape of Sigmar’s twin-tailed comet, two arms reaching to embrace Mallus. This black satellite formed the head of the comet, and it was here that Sigmaron, the palace of the Heldenhammer, was situated. Vandus, Laudus and Andricus emerged into the grounds on the path they called the High Road. Sigmar’s palace soared above them, as wide and sprawling as any city, its many domes and spires gleaming by the light of the moons.

They made their way through the magnificent halls and vaults of the palace. Even the meanest chamber was monumental beyond anything Vandus could recall from his old life. Every stone was perfect, every decoration of the finest craftsmanship.

They took paths followed only by others of their kind, corridors they must take as ritual prescribed. Down they went, past the Forbidden Vaults, their heads resolutely turned away. Their oaths demanded they never look upon the vaults’ doors.

So it was that his companions did not immediately see Vandus stumble.

The strange sensation he had experienced in the quenching chambers returned redoubled. Vandus went down to his knees, clutching at his head. His mind burst aflame with visions.

He saw golden figures climbing endlessly up a glacier of precious metal, battles upon bridges that spanned an ocean of bubbling silver, and innumerable, wicked eyes glinting through a hole in the sky. He saw a two-headed winged shadow silhouetted before a portal of terrible power, and a tide of daemons. Holes ripped in the world’s fabric split the vision, clawed hands and needle-toothed snouts pushing through until nothing remained. Light burned them away, and he saw the sigil of the twin-tailed comet upon a hammer that shone brighter than any sun.

‘My lord!’

The hammer.

‘Vandus!’

Ghal Maraz.

Vandus came to his senses with Laudus Skythunder clutching his shoulders.

‘Vandus? Are you well? What is happening?’ Laudus was saying.

Andricus spoke quietly in reply. ‘It is the same as with the others. The reforged…’

‘Silence, Lord-Castellant. Vandus has not passed the gates of death. I will hear no more of your morbid talk!’

‘Vandus?’ said Andricus.

Recovering himself, the Lord-Celestant looked to his fellows. Concern radiated from them both. ‘I’m fine,’ he said hoarsely. He got unsteadily to his feet, pushing Andricus’ hand away when he tried to help him. Once up, he marched on as steadily as he could, leaving the others to follow.

Lord-Castellant sentries slammed their halberds against their chests as the three Stormcasts entered the throne room through doors fifty feet high. Within were the command echelons from a dozen Stormhosts, arranged in rows according to their rank and order either side of a carpet, a night-blue road that led from the doors to the celestial throne. Upon this, the God-King Sigmar sat tall in his majesty. The ceiling retreated up and away. Hundreds of feet overhead, carved panels shone, and it was as if the assembled host basked in the light of many suns.

Sigmar smiled broadly as Vandus approached. Andricus was right, something had occurred. Sigmar’s manner betrayed his excitement.

‘Vandus, my favoured son,’ said the God-King. ‘I am gladdened that you are here with me again.’

Vandus bowed his head. He dearly wanted to kneel, to show his pleasure at being in the presence of his lord, but the God-King had no time for sycophancy.

Before the throne was another Lord-Celestant, clad in the turquoise livery of the Celestial Vindicators Stormhost, and he was kneeling.

‘Thostos has discovered something,’ said Sigmar. ‘All of you have performed well, my sons. I bring you here to share with you Thostos Bladestorm’s discovery and to set for you another task of great import.’

The god turned his radiant eyes upon the kneeling Thostos, who had made no movement or sound.

‘Stand, Thostos Bladestorm!’ commanded Sigmar.

Thostos slowly lifted his head and looked around him. He appeared confused.

‘We shall kneel no more,’ said Sigmar. He gestured, encouraging Thostos to rise.

The Lord-Celestant of the Bladestorm got unsteadily to his feet.

‘You are reforged,’ said Sigmar. ‘Now tell me of Chamon.’

Thostos paused before he began. When he spoke, it was falteringly. His voice sounded hollow behind his impassive war-mask. ‘There was… There was a fortress of magic. We breached its walls, only to die in a burst of unlight that was fought by a greater light.’

Sigmar leaned forward. ‘Speak to me of this greater light.’

‘Golden,’ said Thostos with difficulty. ‘Not the energy of Chaos. Violent, but pure.’

Sigmar tensed, a man who had undone the final fetters on his passions. Vandus realised then that the wait for the war through the Long Calm had been harder on the God-King than it had been on any of the Stormcasts.

‘I remember it well,’ Sigmar said. ‘Lord Vandus!’

Vandus stepped up to Thostos’ side.

‘Prepare your warriors,’ commanded Sigmar. ‘That light is mine.’ He sank back into his throne and gripped the metal gryphons on the arms. ‘We have found Ghal Maraz.’

Sigmar swept his piercing gaze across the assembled officers. ‘This knowledge has been bought at great cost. Many of the Celestial Vindicators were slain and returned to the Reforging chambers, victims of evil magic.’ He looked to Thostos again. ‘Centuries ago, I was deceived into casting Ghal Maraz from me at the Battle of Burning Skies by Tzeentch. He has since conspired to hide its whereabouts from me, but long have I suspected that Ghal Maraz rested in the mountains of the Hanging Valleys of Anvrok.