Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

They issued forth in ordered ranks, every precise step crashing against the grey mountain stone. Brotherhood after brotherhood they came, bearing blades and bows and axes charged with Azyric energy that filled the air with a cerulean light.

Flights of Knights-Azyros raced into the glowering sky, each warrior carried on lightning wings and bearing with them lanterns that shone with the light of Sigmar’s ire. Behind them rose Knights-Venator and soaring Prosecutors, their celestial arrows and javelins like sparks against the stormhead, a flock of star-eagles swirling around them in the mystical vortices and thermals of the pulsing realmgate.

Drilled beyond mortal discipline, the Stormcast Eternals of the Silverhands Chamber moved like the pieces of an intricate, perfect machine. Ranks and files slid effortlessly together, expanded and reformed to negotiate the broken terrain, rapidly forming a line in echelon across the mouth of the broad defile. The conclaves formed, their arrangement an abstraction of a fortress. Swift, sky-borne Angelos Conclaves acted as the outer defences, the insurmountable warriors of the Paladin Conclaves forming a living barbican behind them. This ‘gatehouse’ was flanked by the walls of the Redeemer Conclaves, a solid bulwark of gleaming hammers and azure shields. Theuderis Silverhand and his sub-commanders kept company with the Justicar Conclaves as a central keep from which reserves could pour forth to exploit any weakness or counter any enemy advantage.

The Lord-Celestant did not need to utter a single command. The entire manoeuvre had been set in motion before he had led the vanguard though the gate. Each Stormcast Eternal knew his exact place, the Strike Chamber a single entity far more than it was a collection of individual warriors.

When the several hundred warriors were assembled, Theuderis raised a hand and the army advanced as one, sweeping onto the barren ground of the Capricious Wilds in an unbroken line, while Sigmar’s heralds swooped above.

From just below the iron-grey clouds, Theuderic had a magnificent view of his knights’ final charge. His hippadon, Sasyran, dipped a wing at his spoken command, plunging them back towards the battle garlanded by streamers of the reptilian beast’s steaming breath. On silvery styllions the knights of the Glittering Breaches thundered into the serpent-bannered ranks of the alter-folk. Detonations marked the impacts of a thousand thunderlances, each flaming spark tearing apart a follower of the Fallen Gods. The styllions, flesh and bone magically bonded with the finest engines of the auromancers, crashed through the alter-folk, crushing them beneath flailing hooves and tearing at them with iron-sheathed fangs.

A battery of falconet heavy gonnes let fly another barrage, incendiary ammunition destroying a motley band of vulpus riders trying to outflank the jezzailers holding the right. Theuderic’s personal grenadiers supported the charge of the knights, their magically wrought explosives detonating with purple-and-white fire amongst the barbarian foe.

The hippadon exhaled orange flame as king and mount fell upon the fleeing remnants of the enemy chieftain’s entourage. Skin blistered and fur garb blazed while Theuderic struck left and right with his slender blade.

The enemy were broken, the last of their strength desperately assembled, and now purged on the fields of the Iron Dunes. Theuderic lifted a fist and from his armoured gauntlet a blaze of white pierced the spring air, signalling the general pursuit.

No more than half a mile from the realmgate stood a citadel raised from the dark rock itself, not a single seam or join on its forbidding surface. The blazon of Sigmar flew from a dozen poles along the walls. It was not large — barely the size of a tower of Castle Lyonaster of old — but it was far more potent than size alone would suggest. At the approach of the Knights Excelsior Strike Chamber, a horn sounded three notes from the castle and bronze gates opened to release a column of figures in white plate.

Theuderis urged Tyrathrax on and the dracoth broke into a run, claws striking sparks from the exposed rock, heading towards Lord-Castellant Neros Stormfather, who led the garrison force. Coming closer, the Lord-Celestant saw damage on the armour of the other Stormcast Eternals. He brandished his blade in salute to the efforts of Sigmar’s warriors.

‘Well met, Lord Stormfather,’ he called out when Tyrathrax came to a halt beside the Lord-Castellant. ‘I see that you have been kept in useful engagement.’

‘We have that, Lord Silverhand,’ said Neros, clasping his halberd to his chest in a gesture of respect. ‘But not for seven days have the degenerates attempted to regain the gate. I do believe they might have learnt the lesson taught by our weapons.’

‘Or they bide their time awaiting a moment of laxity,’ warned Theuderis.

‘They shall wait in vain. The Silverhands are always vigilant.’ Neros looked past Theuderis, to where the host was wheeling en masse, heading towards the hills above which the crimson glow of sunrise was creeping. ‘I judge from the direction of the march that the Capricious Wilds are not the final objective.’

‘No.’ Theuderis followed his gaze. ‘Securing this realmgate was only the first stage, Neros. I march for the lands of Ursungorod.’

‘The Mountains of the Bears — I have heard of them. Home to vile Chaos filth and skaven, and where the lands themselves rebel against the touch of the Dark Powers. No easy task.’

‘Sigmar did not elevate us to undertake easy tasks, Neros.’

‘He did not, but enough grains of sand can bury even the greatest monument. Another realmgate? It always is.’

‘Of course,’ Theuderis answered with a nod. ‘An important one. Buried beneath a mountain, no less, and surrounded by skaven. When we take the Ursungorod realmgate it will bring us to the Vaults of the Spring Moon, within striking distance of the Lifegate. Others are moving into position for the other great realmgates that lead to the Allpoints. We are the fist of Sigmar God-King, tightening around cursed Archaon. So our immortal lord demands.’

‘Blood-hungry hordes above, vile ratmen below. I hope your sword-arm is fresh, my lord. That is a long wound to cleave.’

‘We are not alone in the endeavour.’ Theuderis leaned forwards and dropped his voice. ‘The first piercing blow has already been made. The Warbeasts have been cast directly into central Ursungorod as a breaching force. They will draw the enemy to them for a time and allow us to cross into the mountains without hindrance.’

‘The Warbeasts? Lord Arkas? I have heard of them.’ Neros looked away, letting his halberds swing down to his side. ‘You best hurry.’

‘You think they will be overrun before we reach them?’ Theuderis was surprised that the Lord-Castellant showed such little faith in his fellow Stormcasts.

‘I think they will have torn a bloody path to the realmgate before you can catch up!’

Theuderis sheathed his sword and shook his head. He lifted a hand in farewell to Neros and turned Tyrathrax back towards his army. He signalled for his Knight-Vexillor, Voltaran, who broke from the other members of the command echelon, carrying the lightning strike icon of the chamber. While he waited, Theuderis eyed the mountains that lined the far horizon, stretching like a jagged barrier. Lit by the new dawn, a wall of cloud obscured the mountain peaks, roiling with a life of their own.

‘We must be prepared,’ he said to Tyrathrax. ‘And focussed. Nothing shall stop us seizing the realmgate. Nothing.’

Voltaran fell in beside his Lord-Celestant.

‘A change of orders, Voltaran.’ Theuderis looked again at the distant mountains. ‘Double-pace. I want to reach Ursungorod by dawn.’