Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘Call upon the Great Drake,’ rumbled Thostos. ‘These statues are raised to him.’

‘That was Celemnis’ intention,’ said Ionus. ‘I am sure of it.’

Vandus glanced from one man to the other. His eyes lingered on Thostos’ cool blue stare. Would Andricus be that way when he returned? He felt a shiver of unease around Thostos where before there had been only friendship. ‘But… I know not how,’ said Vandus.

Calanax roared and rumbled as he prowled up the stairs to join the lords atop the dais. The dracoth looked down upon his master, head cocked to one side in question. Vandus nodded hesitantly, unsure if he understood the beast. ‘Very well. If you intend to talk with the Great Drake, go ahead. What harm can it do?’

‘You must retreat to the edges of the dais,’ said Ionus. ‘The dracoth intends to speak with his father, the Great Drake Dracothion, the first and greatest of their kind.’

For an hour the dracoth bellowed and roared at the sky. None of the men understood his speech, but the urgency of it was arresting. In ones and twos the Stormcasts ceased combing the ruins for the skaven and came to a halt, all eyes on the dragonfate dais. Upon the other crag where the majority of the army waited, the dracoths of other Lord-Celestants assembled, adding their voices to Calanax’s roar one by one.

Darkness fell. The stars were dim against the brightness of the silver wyrm’s fires and the town flickered in their perpetual firelight.

Finally, Calanax ceased his petition. The stars grew brighter, and brighter, until they outshone the fires of Argentine. The sky blazed as gloriously as those of Azyr. Stars moved, and the night rippled and resolved itself into a smiling reptilian face as wide as the sky.

‘My son!’ boomed the Great Drake Dracothion. His voice rumbled from the mountain peaks. He could surely be seen and heard in every country of the Hanging Valleys of Anvrok. His teeth were the glimmer of stars and in his coils galaxies turned. ‘How fare the wars of men?’

Calanax roared, his dragon-tongue inscrutable.

‘We have a boon to ask of you, mighty one,’ called Vandus. He stepped out from between the dragon statues, risking the zodiac beast’s scrutiny. ‘We must find the Eldritch Fortress that once crested the Shattered City.’

Dracothion’s regard pinned him in place. Vandus felt as a mouse must when sighted by a hawk.

‘I preferred it when it was Elixia, the Sculpted City,’ the drake said. There was a weighty mirth, timeless and savage, behind Dracothion’s words.

‘Tell us where the fortress is, and Elixia might rise again.’

‘A dark place, yet with a heart of light,’ said the beast. ‘I saw it rise. It bathes within the crucible. Do you seek to reach it? To claim the Hammer of the Stars?’

‘We do,’ said Vandus.

‘Then the sea of silver must cool,’ said Dracothion. ‘The flames must go out. It has been long since I dared the wyrm Argentine’s fires. He was among my most favoured children before pride wormed into him and Tzeentch’s promises turned that into a canker. I will go and speak with him, for he is due a father’s rebuke. Go swiftly, then, whilst his will is diverted. Farewell, noble Calanax!’

The great dragon disappeared. A cloud of lights streaked across the sky, shimmering into the west. The assembled Stormcasts watched in awe. The stars halted. Constellations swirled and took on the form of the dragon again. Jaws sketched in stars arrowed towards Argentine, and closed about his throat.

The silver wyrm jerked. Its roar shook the mountains, carried upon an angry wind that made Stormcast banners crack and icons waver. The wyrm’s fires were extinguished and flickering twilight was banished. True night fell. The two titans strove against each other in the sky. The underside of the Great Crucible was revealed entirely, the red heat-glow dimming quickly, and the mountains cooling with it.

Slowly the Argent Falls solidified. A thick skin wrinkled over the silver. Great globs appeared, breaking the flow of the metal’s silken appearance and rendering it ugly. The orange heat faded away, and the surface became a leaden grey in the fresh-born twilight. Hill-sized lumps of semi-molten silver slammed down, the first splashing apart with the impact, those coming later bouncing messily away and rolling glutinously down the hill, until the lumps that fell free were wholly solid. The river’s flow slowed, stiffened and stopped. The falls and river were both arrested, and the whole cooled into a solid, lumpen mass that creaked and pinged with the eerie music of metal.

‘Listen!’ said Ionus. ‘Celemnis returns!’

The Silver Maiden’s haunting song filled the mountain valleys. Hundreds of Celemnis’ flying swords flew to hang in front of the frozen waterfall.

Celemnis’ wordless singing reached a crescendo, and the swords plunged into the metal, making themselves into the rungs of a dangerous ladder.

Overhead, the battle of titans raged on in the sky as Dracothion fought his wayward offspring. The Eternals gaped at the spectacle, for Dracothion had served as Sigmar’s mount, and was godly himself.

‘We climb, then,’ said Thostos. Now battle had gone, his voice had become colourless once more.

‘Aye,’ said Vandus. ‘We climb. All of us.’

‘You seem nervous, sorcerer.’

Ephryx looked up from his scrying bowl. King Vexos Thrond had come into his chamber unannounced again. The man was insufferable.

‘You are king of all you survey in the Great Crucible,’ said Ephryx. ‘But you are not lord of this fortress. Send word you are coming next time — I am engaged in delicate magics that your arrogant interruptions risk.’

Ephryx turned his back on the giant warrior-king, a pointed signal that he should depart. Thrond did not. Ephryx frowned.

‘Do you treat all your hosts with such ill manners?’ asked Thrond.

‘Do you treat all your guests so poorly?’ asked Ephryx.

‘The beasts of my menagerie are always hungry, Ephryx. Do not insult me.’

Ephryx flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Your coterie of monsters from the rim might be enough to ensure your rule of the crucible, your majesty, but I have the support of Tzeentch himself. Be wary that I do not turn your creatures into statues of tin.’

Thrond snorted and came to Ephryx’s side. Thrond was enormous, for he too was favoured by Tzeentch. The sale of his soul had ensured Thrond would rule forever, and the king had become more and more swollen with the energies of Chaos as the years had passed. He had been the lord of the crucible almost as long as Ephryx had ruled Anvrok. The two were long-standing, if wary, allies.

The crucible king bent his horned helm to Ephryx’s golden scrying bowl — Ephryx had never seen him without it. Deep in the vision slits, tawny eyes reflected the bowl’s picture in miniature: Stormcasts ascending upon a ladder of swords or following the dracoths, who clawed handholds into the metal as they went. ‘They are still climbing.’

‘As they have been for the last four days,’ said Ephryx. In the bowl, the Stormcasts toiled upwards without pause. ‘See how they struggle. It is hard work for them. They are created for war.’ He laughed. ‘Each must weigh as much as three mortal men. They will be weakened when they attain the crucible lip.’

‘Yet they near the top. Do they lose many of their number?’ Thrond had a reputation for sudden fury. He was frustrated by the demands Tzeentch forced on him, and horrified at the boredom his eternal life brought. A fine jest on Tzeentch’s part, but his temper put Ephryx in danger.

‘Skyrays dog them, but take only a few. They are guarded by many winged warriors. I have seen others grip the swords too tightly and shear off their own fingers. Those who fall will fall forever through the void. Celemnis is a dubious friend.’ Ephryx smiled unpleasantly. The thought amused him. ‘Their force is reduced further by dissension. There was some kind of disagreement before they began.’ Ephryx’s smile grew wider still. ‘Many remained below in my land, and go about other business.’ He scowled. The trespassers irritated him, but there was nothing he could do about it from up here.