Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Deucius met the Celestant-Prime’s gaze. There was an almost reverent glow in the Liberator’s eyes now. ‘The wisdom of the Deus Sigmar brings both comfort and challenge.’ He turned and darted a triumphant look at Othmar. ‘Would a trick of the Prismatic King quote Sigmar’s holy scriptures?’

Othmar spread his arms wide in a gesture of submission. ‘I have already conceded the field, brother,’ he said. Bowing once more to the Celestant-Prime, he apologized to the winged hero. ‘You must indulge Deucius. He has enough devotion in him to balance the faults of all the Thriceblessed.’

‘If that were true,’ Deucius said, ‘then we should have conquered the maze and captured the Pillar of Whispers.’

The Celestant-Prime swung around, his eyes locking upon Deucius. ‘The Pillar of Whispers?’ he hissed, feeling the name resonating within him, blazing through his mind like a ravening firestorm.

‘It is the realmgate we were charged to capture,’ Othmar said. ‘A portal seized by the Prismatic King and hidden within the maze. Lord-Celestant Devyndus believed that by securing the Pillar of Whispers we would sever the Prismatic King’s source of power. We could begin to reclaim the lands of Shaard without the threat of new enemy legions being drawn through the realmgate.’

‘We never even came within sight of it,’ Deucius stated. ‘The sorcery of the maze overwhelmed us before we could threaten the enemy’s treasure.’

The Celestant-Prime could see the shame and remorse these warriors felt at their failure. It was an illness coiled about their hearts, slowly eating away at their valour, making them less than what they were. Boldly, he raised Ghal Maraz, compelling the eyes of every Stormcast to the relic. ‘Here is the key that will unlock the maze,’ he declared. ‘What sorcery can endure the God-King’s hammer?’

Many of the Thriceblessed fell to one knee, seized by their awe of the relic and their belief in its indomitable power. Othmar remained standing however, his tone dour when he spoke. ‘I know Ghal Maraz is mighty,’ he said. ‘But I have also seen the power of the maze. All of us have… except you, my lord.’

‘Tell me of the maze,’ the Celestant-Prime ordered. ‘Tell me of this power that makes you question the might of Sigmar.’

Othmar shook his head. ‘It is a thing beyond words. Something past sight and sound and feeling — at once all and none of these things. We marched into a place of nothingness, an emptiness where there was only ourselves. An emptiness that stretched on forever, without limit or end.’

‘Othmar found a flaw in the maze,’ one of the other warriors declared. ‘A crack in the cage of nothingness that held us.’

‘Only we few were able to slip free before the crack closed,’ Deucius explained. ‘But of what consequence has our freedom been? We’re too few to assail the Prismatic King’s Eyrie and we lack the secrets of the maze to seize the realmgate or rescue our brethren.’

‘Then it is well you have found Ghal Maraz.’ The Thriceblessed swung around, reaching for their weapons as the voice carried to them. Stalking out from the shadow cast by the plateau was the lean little wizard Throl. The man nodded respectfully to the armoured warriors as he hastened towards the champion.

‘Such do I call him, for his is the burden of the godhammer,’ Throl boasted. ‘If Ghal Maraz cannot break the power of the maze, then there is no force that can!’

The Celestant-Prime gazed down at the little man. ‘You took your time joining us.’

Throl plucked at his ragged cloak and slapped his lean legs. ‘You might have tarried a bit and given me a chance to catch up. I am hardly so spry as once I was.’

‘My lord, who is this man?’ Deucius asked.

‘Throl of Shaard,’ Ghal Maraz answered. ‘Last of his people and our ally.’

Throl bobbed his head in agreement. ‘My magic is too weak to oppose the Prismatic King, but I have been able to spy upon him. I know the secret paths that lead to the Maze of Reflection, ways hidden from even his most loyal servants.’

Othmar approached the little wizard, towering over the cloaked man.

‘And what of the Maze? Do you know its secrets too? Can you lead us through the trap? Can you help us redeem ourselves?’ The Liberator shook his head. ‘How can this wretch bring victory where the Thriceblessed have found only failure,’ he scoffed.

‘There is a time for valour and strength and a time for cunning,’ the Celestant-Prime reminded Othmar. ‘Pride is a poor substitute for strategy.’

‘I only want to redeem the shame we have all suffered,’ Othmar explained. ‘This is a burden that belongs to the Thriceblessed.’

‘Your zeal does you credit,’ the Celestant-Prime told him, ‘but it is presumptuous to think the burden is yours alone. All who oppose Chaos have a stake in the Great Battle.’ The winged hero turned back to the wizard. ‘You say you know the way to the maze, but what of the Prismatic King’s Eyrie?’

Throl took a step backwards, almost tripping over himself in shock at the question. ‘You can’t mean to attack the Prismatic King’s stronghold.’

‘It isn’t my place to question one chosen to bear the godhammer, but shouldn’t we overcome the maze before we take on the Prismatic King?’ Othmar asked.

‘The maze has been challenged before,’ Ghal Maraz declared. ‘If courage alone was sufficient to overcome its magic then the Thriceblessed would have prevailed. No, there is a secret behind the maze. None of us here knows that secret, but we know where to find the one who does.’

‘The Eyrie of Illumination is guarded by the most infernal of the Prismatic King’s legions,’ Othmar said. ‘When our chamber came here, we knew that only by capturing the realmgate and securing it could we prevail against the Eyrie. If our warhost was insufficient for the task, how can a mere handful triumph?’

‘You forget that we have the might of Ghal Maraz now,’ Deucius declared. ‘What army can stand against the power of the godhammer?’

‘It isn’t necessary to capture the Eyrie,’ the Celestant-Prime explained. ‘For that, we would need the strength of numbers. But our purpose isn’t to seize the fortress, only to find its master. To that end, a small group is better. Let the Prismatic King underestimate his peril, let him believe we are naught but a nuisance to be swatted aside. He will hesitate to commit his legions if he believes they are unnecessary.’ The hero turned from the Stormcasts and again regarded the cloaked wizard. ‘Do you know a way into the Eyrie?’

Throl smiled. ‘The Prismatic King moves his Eyrie whenever it suits him. Sometimes it is in the plains, sometimes the mountains. But always it must return to the fields of Uthyr where he first raised it from the fire. At dawn and dusk, the inbetween times when the borders of existence are at their thinnest, that is when the stronghold must return to its foundations.’

‘Then guide us to the fields of Uthyr,’ the Celestant-Prime told the wizard. ‘Do this, Throl, and know that you will have done your part to avenge your people.’

The fields of Uthyr could be felt long before they were seen. Their stifling heat spilled across the domain like a blast of dragonfire. Only the hardiest of creatures braved the desolation surrounding the region: steely weeds that nestled in the shelter of rocks and ugly lice-like bugs that burrowed beneath the hot sands.

The Thriceblessed marched across this blighted expanse, their armoured boots digging deep furrows in the parched land. Throl trotted along behind the warriors, pausing every now and again to renew the spells that enabled him to endure the ghastly heat.