Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘And he will remember your sacrifice,’ Theuderis said quietly, drawing his runeblade to place the point between Sementor’s cuirass and his helm. ‘We shall meet again on the far side of the forge.’

He leaned his weight onto the weapon, pushing it deep. The Judicator’s body crackled and vanished, leaving the faintest aftertrail of blue heading skywards from the point where he had lain.

They worked their way down to the rock-littered canyon floor. As they descended, the survivors grew fewer and fewer — those at the bottom had faced the full weight of the cliff coming down upon them. Theuderis lifted clear another of his companions, the Knight-Heraldor Attaxes Darkbane. The plates of his armour seemed mostly undamaged; only the weight of the rocks pinning him down had necessitated assistance. Nodding his thanks, Attaxes retrieved his slender clarion.

‘I thought…’ The Knight-Heraldor’s voice trailed off as he turned his head to look past Theuderis.

Casting his gaze about, the Lord-Celestant saw that many of the others had stopped their labours and were also staring back up the slope. He turned to see what had caught their attention.

The stones of the rockfall had parted into two main flows, leaving an uneven expanse of the grey cliff between them. At first Theuderis could see nothing, just jags of rock and striations. And then, tilting his head slightly, the image came to him, the shadows and light resolving into a picture. It was unmistakable — the cliff had formed the face of a gigantic roaring bear, with sharp promontories of rock for fangs, and exposed clay beds casting a red hue within the open mouth.

‘What do you suppose that is?’ said Attaxes.

‘Proof of this land’s corruption,’ replied Theuderis. He said nothing more, but it seemed more than coincidence that the earthquake had struck at the most damaging moment.

He called out to the others to free their remaining companions and did the same himself. When the last of the buried Stormcasts had been dragged from the toppled boulders, the army ascended once again, though Theuderis remained behind for some time, staring at the cliff face. The sun had moved and the image was no longer there, and had not his companions also seen the apparition he would have dismissed it as a hallucination brought on by the sudden stress of the earthquake.

A rasping bark from Tyrathrax drew his attention away, to where his sub-commanders awaited him at the top of the rock pile. Suppressing his unease, Theuderis pulled himself over the rocks and joined them, glad to put the depressing episode behind him. His Knight-Vexillor, Knight-Heraldor and the most senior of the Knights-Azyros, Samat, attended to him.

‘Our strength is much diminished, my lord,’ reported Voltaran. ‘Nearly half of the Paladin Conclaves were lost, and a third of our remaining warriors.’

‘We press on regardless,’ commanded Theuderis. ‘Sigmar shall see fit to return them to us when needed. Let us not turn an unfortunate incident into a disaster. The Warbeasts are depending upon us to make rendezvous in three days, and we will make the meeting point in two. Samat, spread the search groups further ahead. Find me the swiftest route to the inland region.’

‘As you will it, Lord Silverhand,’ replied the Knight-Azyros.

‘If I might make a suggestion, my lord,’ Voltaran said quietly. Theuderis nodded. ‘Overground is proving troublesome. Perhaps there is an alternative. The ruins of the subterranean city of the duardin are said to stretch far into Ursungorod.’

‘We would lose my warriors’ mobility,’ said Samat.

‘And there is no reason to believe the underground passages have survived in any fit state,’ said Theuderis. ‘Also, I would have the skaven remain unaware of our presence for as long as possible. Delving into their underground domain would be sure to announce our arrival, but overground we might yet continue a day or two unnoticed by them.’

‘If Arkas and his Warbeasts draw their eye, we might even be upon them before they know it,’ said Attaxes.

‘I am certain Arkas is making quite a disturbance,’ replied Theuderis.

During the ascent of Mount Vazdir, the air grew thinner and colder, until the breath of the Warbeasts followed them like a mountain fog. But the snows held and, except for the ever-present dark clouds, the skies were clear for the Prosecutors to lead the way. At first they had reported a steep climb marked by treacherous ridges and thick forest, but the way proved less than formidable. The dense thickets of trees appeared to open up before the Stormcasts and the winding trails seen by the scouts resolved into broader paths, as though the mountain itself wished to speed them on their way.

Arkas led from the front. There were some Lord-Celestants who preferred the distance of command, placing themselves in the main body so that they might act and observe more dispassionately. He had heard as much regarding Theuderis Silverhand. Arkas considered himself a more intuitive leader in battle. Just as one had to look into the eye of a foe to judge their character and intent, so he had to be in the forefront of the clash of arms to know, to feel, the best course of action to take.

‘I am sure we saw those trees before,’ remarked Dolmetis, indicating a stand of immense pines ahead of them. ‘Are we sure Hastor is not entertaining himself at our expense?’

‘I forgive your ignorance, so perhaps Hastor will forgive your distrust,’ replied Arkas. ‘Those are spectral pines — the leaves are bluer than the mountain firs we saw earlier. And the ways of Ursungorod are not always straight. It might seem but a javelin’s throw to your destination, but a defile separates you that cannot be crossed but at the expense of half a day’s march.’

‘Or the opposite,’ Dolmetis said quietly. ‘I feel that we are not being welcomed so much as lured…’

Arkas stopped, sensing a ripple of energy flowing through the roots of Ursungorod. He held up a hand to halt the army. A heartbeat later he felt the ground shiver. Some snow fell from the tree branches and slid across drifts, but nothing more serious. In moments the tremor had passed.

His mortal experiences meant that, despite the intervening age, he could feel Ursungorod as closely now as when he had been the Bear-clad. The perturbations in the Ghurite energy told him that the quake had been to the west — from where Theuderis approached. He hoped his fellow Lord-Celestant had weathered the incident well.

More days than not witnessed a quake in Ursungorod. It had made it impossible to launch an attack on the skaven lairs, as entrances opened and closed with every earth movement. This time would be different — he had an army capable of breaching the underdeeps and even the Shadowgulf itself. He would strike like a dagger into their heart.

A flit of shadows heralded the arrival of a quintet of Prosecutors. Their Prime, Venian, landed in front of Arkas while the others kept station on humming wings.

‘My lord,’ he began, dropping to a knee to deliver the report. ‘Knight Hastor dispatched us. A foe lies between us and the ruin we seek. Five hundred strong, at least, garbed for war. We did not reveal ourselves and Hastor awaits your command.’

‘Where?’

‘A still lake, frozen in a bowl-shaped valley. Even the rivers and falls are ice. We saw a town of tents and more solid structures arrayed the slopes.’

‘I know this place,’ Arkas said. ‘Icemere. You saw the enemy?’

‘Briefly, my lord,’ replied Venian. ‘Many were well armoured, not like the scum we chased down earlier. The encampment looked more settled also. There were several burnt-out pyres and totemic poles raised in the centre, and a charnel stench — sacrifices no doubt. We approached stealthily and heard the growl of hounds and caught glimpses of larger beasts.’