Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘I am here to grant us both a fresh chance,’ he said. ‘Answer my questions and I will deliver on what I promised.’

‘I will not let you betray me again!’

The cold branches crept further up his leg and fresh veins of frost started to encase the other. His breath formed a thick fog. The plates of his armour paled with a thin coating of ice.

‘I am your last and only chance for freedom,’ Arkas said. ‘Aid me and you serve the God-King, who shall be handsome in his favours. Or strike me down with frost-spite and remain here in your prison forever.’

Arkas felt his heart thudding, every pulse a drumbeat in his chest, the rush of blood a surge of noise in his ears. Had he judged her wrong?

A rime crept over his face, fogging his vision, crawling along the channels of his scars. He could feel a current stirring inside, the Anvil of the Apotheosis beckoning to his spirit while death stole along his nerves.

He could no longer feel his legs, his hands were leaden weights, a coil of ice binding his fingers to the haft of his hammer. In a dozen reflections he saw himself as he should be, a withered, frost-bound corpse.

The fate Sigmar had spared him, he realised with a shock.

‘You will… be free…’ he gasped, his breath forming crystals on the inside of his mask.

He heard the faintest whisper, barely audible over the thunder of his own heartbeat.

‘Sleep.’

‘I cannot,’ Arkas managed, each word a triumph of will against the freezing of his muscles.

‘Beloved descendant.’

Arkas swallowed, the motion painful, as though swallowing a stone. He closed his eyes, frost thickening on the lashes.

With a shudder, he took in a great final lungful of chilling air and the magic of the queen’s breath flowed into him.

Descending into the valley, Theuderis’ host had left the worst of the snows and storms behind. The wind was strong, bending tall firs and pines, whipping the great branches back and forth to dust the marching Stormcasts with falling snow. Roots slithered like serpents underfoot, opportunistically snaring feet and ankles. Even the stones and boulders rebelled at the presence of the Stormcasts, forming frowning faces and leering eyes as they passed, rolling to trip and hinder the step of Sigmar’s chosen, the larger rocks toppling down banks and hills in lumbering attempts to crush the invaders.

Tyrathrax padded quietly across the whiteness, her harness and armour jingling. The creak and tromp of the Stormcast Eternals advancing between the trees were the only other sounds. The lack of birdsong and small animals still disturbed Theuderis, but he allowed himself a moment of reverie as he contemplated his surrounds.

‘It has a certain grandeur, I give it that,’ Theuderis said to his dracoth. ‘A fallen glory, you might say. When the taint has been cleansed it will be beautiful again.’

The trees formed an almost unbroken canopy and except for the odd beam breaking through a gap caused by the wind, Theuderis had not seen the sun since they had entered, not long after dawn. The white-and-blue of his warriors was muted in the gloom, swallowed by the green and brown shadows.

A shaft of light sprang into being a short way ahead — not the soft gold of the mountain sun but a paler glow Theuderis recognised immediately as the gleam of a celestial beacon. Samat descended slowly through a break in the leaves, coming to rest a few paces ahead of the Lord-Celestant. The Knight-Azyros’ wings furled with a last glint of colour as the two met.

‘There is no sign of the road we saw yesterday, Lord Silverhand.’ Samat turned to look along the line of advance. ‘It has been… swallowed. The forest is vast. We shall not see the sky before midday tomorrow if we continue in this direction. A wide river bounds the forest half a day to the south. We saw no ford or bridge and the current is strong.’

‘North?’

‘The slopes rise steeply but we would break the treeline before dusk. The ground is broken by shoulders of rock and more ruined settlements. The snow is heaped on the higher slopes, and I fear avalanches would be a constant threat, needing only the slightest tremor to bring a storm of ice and rock upon us. The land has not taken kindly to our presence — who can say what other threats it harbours.’

The memory of the collapsing cliff flashed through Theuderis’ mind — warriors engulfed by a tide of earth and stone, bright flashes of lightning as so many Stormcasts were called back to Sigmaron.

‘We continue through the forest. Though it is hostile, it does not appear to pose too great a danger,’ said the Lord-Celestant.

Samat hesitated before bowing his head in acknowledgement.

‘Speak your mind.’

‘There is still the option of the city beneath,’ said the Knight-Azyros. ‘The duardin ruins we have seen stand atop vast delvings. I expressed my doubts before, but I must say that I am of a mind that the route below might prove the swifter.’

‘The swiftest road is by no means the surest,’ replied Theuderis. ‘We have been fortunate to have eluded the attention of the skaven thus far. Doubtless Arkas and his Warbeasts have stirred their nest. It serves no purpose for the moment to draw their eye to us.’

‘We cannot know how the Celestial Vindicators fare, my lord,’ argued Samat. ‘They could be sorely beset and every delay threatens the success of our mission.’

‘It is the task to which Sigmar appointed them,’ said Theuderis, crossing his arms. ‘We cannot judge from afar whose need is greater, ours or Arkas’. If we hasten and run into peril, what succour can we provide?

‘It is for your wisdom that you are Lord-Celestant,’ admitted Samat, bowing further, ‘and through your words is spoken Sigmar’s will. As you command, we obey.’

‘Do not chastise yourself, Samat.’ Theuderis reached out a hand and beckoned for the Knight-Azyros to approach closer. ‘I would not have my officers close their lips and minds. The advice was given in good temper, and I accept it. Yet my own mind is set upon its path for the moment and I would see it run the course for a while longer.’

Before Samat could reply, a noise silenced him. It was a distant horn blast, far shriller than the clarions of the Knights-Heraldor. Tyrathrax snarled and the Stormcasts threading through the trees stopped where they were, instinctively raising their weapons.

Answering notes came from ahead and behind. Theuderis twisted in his saddle to peer through the trees but could see nothing. He turned back to issue an order to Samat but the Knight-Azyros had already taken flight. Nothing could be seen through the branches and leaves above.

Tyrathrax sensed her master’s agitation and snarled, tail lashing back and forth like an angry snake.

Theuderis heard a cry, the metallic shout of one of his warriors. He could not make out the words or direction in the press of trees. Some of the nearest Stormcast Eternals started out into the woods, calling to each other to find the source of the disturbance.

‘Stand fast!’ he roared, dragging free his tempestos hammer. ‘Form a perimeter, castellation line!’

The horns sounded again, louder and closer, coming from all around it seemed, yet still Theuderis could see nothing and no report came from his men. The Stormcasts did their best to reform the marching column into a defensive line, but the closeness and thickness of the trees meant that they could stand no more than four or five abreast in many places. The Primes strode back and forth, tightening the shield walls of the Liberators, moving the Judicators into gaps in the line from where Azyr-forged bows and crossbows would be able to mark an incoming foe.