Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

The Stormcasts’ formation slowly moved across the clearing, pace by pace. The warriors stepped over and past burning logs and piles of dead beastmen, weapons still swinging, the whole army functioning as a single perfect machine.

A raucous screech from above drew Theuderis’ gaze away from the righteous carnage. His eye was drawn immediately to the large shape swooping down through the break in the celestial storm. Tendrils of Ghurite energy trailed from its leathery wings and sword-long claws. Evidently the magical call of the bray-shamans had attracted it from its hunting ground further up the slopes. More winged shapes in the distance betrayed the approach of other creatures that had also heard the summoning cry.

‘Manticores!’ he shouted, heart sinking. His warriors were in no position to defend themselves from an aerial attack, but to change formation now, in the heart of the enemy’s force, would be equally disastrous. He glanced at Attaxes. ‘Signal for the Angelos, now!’

Attaxes had raised his clarion but before a single note had been sounded a light streaked across the sky. Theuderis’ eyes adjusted to see a winged figure in armour of turquoise, a rainbow-coloured bird at its shoulder, a golden bow in hand.

Even as Attaxes sounded the alarm, the newcomer’s wings flared with a thunderous crack that could be heard on the ground, bringing him to an instant halt. He loosed a single bolt from his weapon. The missile blazed across the sky, a comet trailing white and blue fire.

The star-fated arrow struck the descending manticore full in the chest, becoming an inferno of colours that engulfed the monster with licking flames. The diving beast was quickly consumed by the fireball, thrashing and howling in pain as it disappeared from view and crashed into the forest some distance away.

Samat and the rest of the Angelos Conclave raced from the trees, abandoning their pursuit at Attaxes’ signal. The newly arrived Knight-Venator met with the Knight-Azyros and a moment later was directed groundwards while the Knights-Azyros and Prosecutors turned to face the following monsters.

Theuderis’ made his way back along the line of Paladins, allowing himself to be absorbed by the Judicators at the centre. There was a space two dozen paces across in the heart of their formation and into this gap dropped the Knight-Venator.

The Stormcast’s appearance confirmed Theuderis’ guess — a warrior of the Celestial Vindicators, doubtless a Warbeast despatched by Arkas. The Lord-Celestant feared the worst, unsure what the warrior’s appearance foreshadowed, and spoke before any introduction was made.

‘How fares your master? Do the Warbeasts still fight on?’

‘To the best of my knowledge, Lord Silverhand,’ the Knight-Venator replied, taken aback by the demanding tone of the Lord-Celestant. ‘He fares better than you, I would wager.’

‘What purpose brings you here, Warbeast?’ Theuderis had little time for jest, and this was certainly no occasion for levity. ‘You distract me from the course of battle.’

‘I am Hastor, Knight-Venator of the Lord Warbeast,’ the other Stormcast said formerly, giving a slight bow as he furled his wings. His star-eagle settled on a nearby bestigor corpse and started plucking at its exposed innards. ‘I bear a warning from my lord.’

‘A warning?’ Theuderis wondered what further strife could befall his host. Since arriving in Ursungorod they had been beset by misfortunate and enemies at every step.

‘Yes, Lord Silverhand. Lord Arkas wishes you to know that the skaven have stirred a great alliance of beasts against us and they are setting ready for ambush in the forests.’ He looked around and shrugged. ‘I apologise for the untimely nature of this news…’

Theuderis was about to deliver a rebuke but stayed his tongue. This was his first encounter with his new allies and it would bode poorly for the relationship if he started it with chastisement. He had to accept that the warning had been sent in earnest, and that Hastor was simply attending to his duty as he had been commanded. Hastor was forthright in his manner, but the Celestial Vindicators, and the Warbeasts in particular, had a reputation for less-than-perfect discipline. He chose his reply carefully, mindful that his words and deeds might soon be reported back to Arkas and his warriors.

‘Thank you, Hastor. Though your skills as herald are lacking, your warrior-craft is not. You dealt with that manticore in admirable fashion.’ He purposefully turned to survey the ongoing battle. As they spoke, the two warriors moved along with the Judicators, unconsciously keeping station with the whole formation. ‘I regret that I cannot offer you a reply to Lord Arkas at the moment. My attention is keenly needed elsewhere.’

‘As is my bow,’ said Hastor, glancing to the flights of warriors closing on the griffons, manticores and other monstrous creatures aloft. ‘My lord’s other message will wait a while, I’m certain. With your permission, Lord Silverhand?’

‘Knight-Azyros Samat is Angelos-Prime,’ said Theuderis. ‘I am grateful for your bow, Hastor.’

The Knight-Venator said nothing else and sprang into the air. A whistle summoned his star-eagle to follow and in a matter of moments they were another colourful blur amongst the many soaring across the cloudy vault of the sky.

Theuderis lifted his sword, the runes flashing with renewed celestial energy. The Judicators parted at his approach, allowing him to rejoin the fight.

‘No beast lives past nightfall!’ he declared, hacking his way towards the bray-shamans with renewed intent. ‘Sigmar God-King expects nothing less.’

The Black River had always been named for its dark waters, not just murky but as black as pitch. Even after many lifetimes, its inky depths were unchanged. It bubbled and frothed between dozens of jutting pillars that had once held aloft the roofs of a great palace, the walls and floor also long since consumed by the torrent. The blackness of the water was deceiving, obscuring the speed with which it moved — too fast even for a Stormcast to forge across. The Celestial Vindicators were thus forced to follow the old road that ran beside it — though it was not so much a road as the remains of an old mosaic-covered floor that had been thrown up by the convulsions of Ursungorod, laid out before Arkas like a carpet set before an arriving dignitary. The broken tiles were slick with river mud and water plants, but made for surer footing than the sheer ice that stretched for miles to either side as they approached the central uplands.

From ahead a shape descended quickly. Arkas recognised Venian, his Prosecutor-Prime.

‘A stranger approaches, my lord.’ There was something odd in Venian’s tone, as if this event was more worrying to the Prosecutor-Prime than the coming of a flight of dragons.

‘A stranger? A very particular choice of word,’ replied Arkas.

‘I can think of no other.’ The flying warrior landed next to his Lord-Celestant and fell into step with him as they continued along the path. ‘A woman of the tribes. Armed with bow and spear, and armoured in scale, wearing a cloak of white fur.’

‘And how does she “approach”, Venian? What do you mean?’

‘She crosses the snow drifts ahead, directly towards us.’

‘And she saw you?’

‘She raised a fist in salute, my lord.’

Arkas pondered this for a few strides.

‘Alone, you say? Are you sure?’

‘The ice field ahead is expansive, my lord, and devoid of much cover,’ Venian said, his tone slightly clipped with indignation.

‘She bore no marks of the Dark Gods? No mutation or symbols?’

‘I would have reported such, my lord,’ said the Prosecutor-Prime, growing increasingly vexed by his commander’s questions. ‘Unless she possesses unprecedented and hidden mystical abilities, I do not think she is a threat.’