Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

A tentacle-limb wrapped itself about his wrist as he drew back his hammer to strike the first blow. He hacked at the pseudopod with his sword, parting it on the second attempt. By then, the brutish monster was upon him, bowling him over with its immense mass. Sword-arm pinned beneath the creature’s foreleg and his hammer equally trapped, Arkas head-butted the beast, splintering dagger-like fangs.

Claws raked and gouged at his pauldrons and cuirass, slivers of sigmarite falling like curled thread as another brute joined the attack. He felt blood trickling down his shoulder, the first wound his flesh had known since passing through the pain of Sigmar’s forge. The shock sent a surge of energy through him, firing him with a strength unknown before.

Bellowing, Arkas threw off the hellish beast atop him, rising to his feet. His hammer slammed into the face of the second, snapping horns, tusks and skull, pulping the brain within. Heaving aside its dying bulk, he threw himself at the monster that had trapped him. It howled and launched itself in a counter-attack. Ignoring the tentacles flailing at his face, Arkas speared his sword into the brute’s mouth, following the blade in with his whole arm. Blade and fist punched out through the back of the creature’s bony head. Bracing a foot against the slumping corpse’s shoulder, he dragged his arm free, tearing the head away like a macabre bracelet before he threw it aside.

Doridun’s combined assault with Arkas had torn through the Chaos warriors’ flank as they had been forced to turn towards the Lord-Celestant. The Knight-Heraldor and his warriors battered and cleaved at the last remaining foes while Arkas turned his attention to Dolmetis’ progress.

The Protectors slashed a bloody path through the barbaric tribesmen. They swept their glaives in arcs that left their foes dismembered and bisected, the marauders’ numbers counting for little against the far superior weapons, physique and armour of the Stormcast Eternals. Beyond the Protectors, a spearhead of Decimators encircled the survivors, led by Dolmetis. Their thunderaxes streaked bolts of energy from the corpses of their slain foes, the ice underfoot lit by the fury of the war-storm.

The carnage lasted for a little while longer as Hastor and his winged Stormcasts ran down the hounds and horsemen that had attempted to circle, and others fell upon the Chaos followers breaking for safety towards the far end of the lake, heading for the ridge leading to the Queen of the Peak’s lair. Not one survived to reach the shore, incinerated by heavenly shafts and javelins, pierced on the tines of the Prosecutors’ tridents.

The ice was cracked in places, amongst the red wash of freezing blood and the scattered remnants of limbs and bodies. Arkas noticed a few of the Stormcasts gazing down at the sheer surface, concerned.

‘No need to fear for your footing,’ he declared to them, stamping a heavy boot. ‘The Icemere is sustained by the magic of the Queen of the Peak. All year round it could take our weight.’

‘Who is this queen?’ asked Diocletus, one of the Protectors-Prime. ‘Such sorcery is surely Chaos-born.’

‘Not so,’ snapped Arkas. ‘Do you think I would seek her aid if that were the case? No, her power comes from the strength of Ghur, the pure wildness of Ursungorod rendered into magic. The legends claimed she was a goddess in the World Before, but I cannot say that is true. She is powerful, certainly, but a goddess? All that matters is she will know me.’

‘I did not mean any insubordination, my lord,’ Diocletus said, offering a bow in apology, the long blade of his glaive dipped in submission. ‘I sought knowledge. I do not understand why we need the assistance of… a witch.’

‘When I last fought for these lands I had nearly all of the clans at my side and it was not enough. The grip of Chaos is tight and the pollution of the skaven runs far. I would talk to the Queen of the Peak and find out the extent of the power of both.’

‘She can be trusted, Lord-Celestant?’

‘She will not break a bargain struck,’ replied Arkas. ‘I will pay the price she names and she will tell all.’

While Arkas had been speaking, the other Primes had started their post-battle practices, arranging for the bodies of the tainted to be dragged into piles ready to be consumed by cleansing fire. Here and there were mottled patches of ice, the surface crazily scarred by the detonations of those Stormcasts who had been physically overwhelmed and called back to the Celestial Realm. Half a dozen, no more — though Arkas would have preferred it to have been fewer still.

Searches were conducted throughout the camp, all possessions and artefacts added to the pyres. As a Decimator walked past with an armful of rags and trinkets, Arkas called out to him.

‘Wait, Philodus!’ The Lord-Celestant pulled out a necklace fashioned from small, sharp teeth and sinew. The pendant was a large fang inscribed with a symbol similar to the triskele icons the barbarians had carried. ‘This is a Pestilens amulet. Where did you find it?’

The Stormcast indicated a hut of crude planks and untreated hide.

‘There are all kinds of gewgaws and baubles,’ he said. ‘Everywhere.’

‘Forget the pyres!’ bellowed Arkas, tossing the amulet away. ‘Burn it all where it stands! If these cretins were in league with the skaven, who can say what foulness of the Great Horned Rat lurks in their camp. Purge it all, now!’

The Primes rushed to obey his command and moments later arcs of holy lightning flashed across the camp, setting pale flames in the tents and hovels. More celestial blasts incinerated the scattered bodies, the cleansing fires burning a scintillating blue. Arkas stalked through the flames, pointing out bodies and heaps of belongings that had been missed. The surface of the melting ice shimmered while azure smoke poured into the sky.

Only when all was ablaze did Arkas order his warriors onwards to seize the approaches to the ridge taken by the Prosecutors. It seemed as though the clouds descended at their approach, swathing the ridgeline in a thick mist. Ice crystals crackled across their armour. Where the mountains had ushered Arkas on, it felt as though the Queen of the Peak sought to dissuade him.

‘We saw more warriors out on the ridge,’ Venian reported, when Arkas reached the slope. ‘It was your command not to proceed any further.’

‘They are of no consequence,’ Arkas assured them. ‘Hastor holds the far end, does he not? Decimators, to me!’

The Paladins answered to his call, forming up behind Arkas in a dense block, their thunderaxes held ready. Dolmetis and Doridun approached.

‘What orders, my lord?’ asked the Knight-Heraldor.

‘You shall remain in command of the rearguard here, Doridun. None are to advance further without explicit command, and nothing is to pass.’

‘As you command.’

‘Decimators, you will follow at fifteen paces. You will approach no closer without specific order, no matter what occurs.’

The Decimators signalled their understanding with silently raised axes.

‘What am I to do?’ asked Dolmetis.

‘If needed, you will turn and run,’ Arkas said. ‘As fast as you can, back to Doridun. From there you will lead the army to the rendezvous with Theuderis.’

‘That is… comforting?’ said Dolmetis, staring into the swirling mists. ‘What exactly is waiting for us?’

Arkas said nothing, but set off up the ridge into the whiteness.

The first night fell upon the mountains of Ursungorod, the sky alive with unsettling lights and ribbons of magic that lit the heavy clouds from within. The snow came again, silently filling in the footprints of the host, erasing the evidence of their passage. Theuderis and the Silverhands pressed on through the building storm, limbs as tireless as when they had first breached the realmgate into the Capricious Wilds. The Knights-Azyros and other airborne warriors of the Angelos Conclave had been forced to land by the growing snows and wind, and so Samat marched at the side of his Lord-Celestant. He held a great lantern, a celestial beacon that gleamed with Azyrite fire, penetrating the darkness with its white glare. Along the column, the other four Knights-Azyros lit the way for their Stormcast comrades, sparks of brightness against the dark backdrop of the mountainside.