Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

In a moment, the single-minded aggression of the orruks was switched from the assault of the fortress to the reckless pursuit of this new foe. It mattered not that the herd-beasts were simple-minded animals. They promised violence and chaos, and so the tide of orruks joined in.

‘To the gate!’ ordered Eldroc. It was now or never. If they could drive back the distracted orruks that remained, they could still taste victory this day.

‘Lord-Castellant!’ came a voice from on high.

Prosecutor-Prime Evios Goldeather dropped from the sky, hurling a javelin that crackled with arcs of white light. The missile struck a climbing orruk in the back, pinning it neatly to the exterior wall. Another projectile appeared in the herald’s hands, and as he levelled out over the heads of the nearest orruks, he thrust it like a lance to pierce the chest of another creature. Around him, more and more of the creatures were driven from the wall, and they were no longer replaced in an instant by their fellows.

‘I see you decided to take on an entire army by yourself, Lord-Castellant,’ he said, as he dropped neatly to the rampart wall beside Eldroc, his fabulous, gleaming wings tucking neatly behind his back. ‘Perhaps a little rash, though you seem to be doing rather well, considering.’

‘You timing is impeccable, Prosecutor-Prime,’ said Eldroc, his heart flooding with relief. ‘We had thought you lost.’

‘Not today, my Lord. My warriors and I… We are the last of the Argellonites left standing.’ The Prosecutor-Prime’s voice cracked just slightly as he spoke. He removed his helm, and his stark blue eyes looked at the Lord-Castellant imploringly.

‘I left him there,’ he said, quietly. ‘In the canyon. He fell, and I left him unavenged. Him, and the rest of my chamber.’

Eldroc placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Lord-Celestant Argellon will be filled with pride when he hears what you did. You saved the mission, Evios. Without your intervention we would have surely fallen. I will tell Mykos of your ingenuity, when he returns from the forge.’

Goldfeather nodded.

‘I cannot believe that you did this,’ said Alzheer, shaking her head and staring at the chaos unfolding before them. Thousands of orruk dead littered the plain. If they had re-gathered then, the creatures may still have carried the day, but all thought of taking the Dreadhold seemed to have left them.

‘Well,’ said Goldfeather, stepping to the rampart alongside the woman, and gazing out at the carnage alongside her. ‘It was actually something you said that gave me the idea.’

‘It was?’

‘You told us that everything on the plain wants us dead. I rather thought the same thing might apply to the orruks.’

Night had fallen by the time Lord-Celestant Thostos made his way back through the realmgate. He brought with him the sad tale of Knight-Azyros Capellon’s demise, but also the hopeful news of the mustering point at the Silversands.

‘You held the fortress,’ he said, as he saluted Eldroc. ‘As I knew you would.’

‘I think we have Prosecutor-Prime Goldfeather to thank for that more than I,’ said the Lord-Castellant. ‘And the men. I have never seen them fight so fiercely.’

They kept a heavy guard through the night, familiar as they now were with the myriad dangers of the Roaring Plains. Though they could hardly relax, the immediate danger had passed, and songs of praise to Sigmar and of the glory of the Argellonites Warrior Chamber rang throughout the mountains until dawn.

As the sun broke, they were greeted by yet another gladdening sight. Lord-Relictor Tharros Soulwarden rose from his vigil at the realmgate, having at last seared the fell influence of Chaos from the ancient structure. With the portal cleansed, the path to the mustering point was made safe. It was time to leave the Roaring Plains. The warriors of the Celestial Vindicators arrayed themselves before the Manticore Realmgate, their sea-green armour gleaming and radiant despite the scars and dents that the last few days had left upon them.

Alzheer stayed long enough to watch the march of the Stormcasts, and Eldroc saw tears brimming in her eyes as the glorious warriors fell into perfect order. Above them, on the walls of the Dreadhold, the comet of Sigmar still flew, fluttering in the soothing wind. The last of the clouds had parted, and the sky was a brilliant azure canvas. It was the first time that the heavens had been free of swirling clouds since the Stormcasts’ arrival.

As they watched, a single speck of light appeared from the west, and streaked across the endless expanse of blue. It left a searing contrail of white-orange across the sky, like the afterimage of staring into a raging fire.

Eldroc felt his heart soar at the sight. He said not a word as the light fell behind the mountains, and the glowing trail in its wake slowly faded from sight. He glanced at Alzheer. Tears streamed down her face, and she clutched the hound’s tooth necklace she carried in one trembling hand.

‘This is just the beginning,’ he told her. ‘More warriors will come from Azyr, priestess. All across the Mortal Realms the armies of Sigmar reclaim the land that was stolen from us. Wherever Sigmar’s light shines, we will find the remnants of his lost people. And we will bring them back.’

‘Hope,’ she said, simply, as she watched the banners of the Celestial Vindicators soar beneath the morning sun.

For once, and Eldroc could not help but praise the God-King for this unexpected boon, the Bladestorm Chamber did not come under attack as it wound its way through the foothills of dull brass towards the rally point. The warriors were tired and beaten, but still they remained in good voice as they marched. Battle-hymns echoed across the mountain range, and those gifted with musical talent or a strong singing voice began to compose their own odes to the bravery of the fallen Argellonites, and the heroism of Lord-Celestant Mykos Argellon and his men.

‘When Mykos and his men return to the field the bonds between our chambers will be stronger than they have ever been,’ said Eldroc, as he caught up to his Lord-Celestant. Redbeak trilled in agreement, padding along in his wake.

‘His loss will be felt in the battles to come,’ said Thostos, with a nod. ‘Yet we have his sacrifice to thank that we can fight them at all. Had the full force of the orruks not been shattered at Splitskull Pass, the Dreadhold would have fallen to their assault.’

‘We prevailed,’ said Eldroc. ‘And now we march to a far greater challenge. The Ironholds are the greatest of the enemy’s bastions. It is said that no army could ever hope to break down their walls.’

‘No army but that which Sigmar has brought forth,’ said Thostos, as they rounded a pass and the ground fell away before them, sliced through by rivers of streaming silver that roared down from the west to form a wondrous estuary of shimmering, molten metal.

Yet it was not this sight that stole Eldroc’s breath.

Gathered on the estuary plain was the mightiest force that the Lord-Castellant had ever laid eyes upon. They mustered in their thousands, warriors from a dozen or more Stormhosts, banners fluttering in the wind. Everywhere one looked, there flew the icons of the God-King. The regal gold and purple of the Lions of Sigmar, soaring high above columns of glittering Liberators. The morose black of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer, held aloft by grim swordsmen. Royal blues, fierce reds. The full panoply of Azyr’s finest warriors, arrayed in perfect order before them. Lines of cavalry mounted upon proud and noble dracoths, spears glinting in the moonlight. Angels and heralds of war swirling in the skies above, their trumpets and war-horns filling the air with a fierce and radiant harmony.