Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘If we depart they will come, my lord,’ said Doridun, looking along the lines of Ursungorans. ‘They have the manner of people that have run and hidden for long enough. They may not be many but they seem capable. They will certainly engage the foe for some time.’

‘Here, on their own territory, defending their homes they may be powerful.’ Arkas took a deep breath. ‘We must venture into the depths of the skaven tunnels and there will be only victory or death, no retreats and ambushes. These are the last of the true people of Ursungorod. The uncorrupted. We came to liberate them, not spend their lives to shield ourselves.’

‘You misunderstand—’ Doridun began but Arkas cut him off with a sharp gesture.

‘No, Knight-Heraldor,’ he said sternly, ‘you misunderstand your commander. Ursungorod will be freed and its true people will repopulate these mountains. Look at them — their strength is diminishing with each generation. If I asked, each would lay down their life — but I cannot ask. Katiya thinks I will lead them to some new age of glory. I cannot lead them into battle and do that at the same time.’

Doridun stepped back and glanced away, towards the other Stormcasts.

‘I will send Venian on his mission, my lord,’ the Knight-Heraldor said stiffly. It was clear he had more to say but was holding his tongue. ‘Do you have orders for the rest of the chamber?’

‘We hold here for the moment,’ Arkas replied. When he said nothing further, Doridun nodded and left. Switching back to the Ursungoran language, Arkas addressed Katiya. ‘When Ursungorod is free, from here its people will rise. Show me your city.’

What the free Ursungorans had built was remarkable, when so many other civilizations had risen and fallen during the turning of the ages. Even if they had not been his people, to Arkas the Ursungorans would still have been as precious as diamonds found in the filthy mire of Chaos. Katiya guided Arkas through barrack-chambers, along tunnels lined with deadfall traps and pits that could waylay pursuers. Cunningly balanced tip-doors and hatches allowed the defenders to redirect the path of an attacking force, built using ancient duardin door mechanisms engineered beyond anything Katiya’s people were capable of.

‘What about food? Forging metal? Clothes?’ the Lord-Celestant asked when she brought him into a living chamber. It was squared with duardin stone slabs but the floor and ceiling were naked ice, with columns formed from thick icicles. Fur mattresses and pillows were scattered in small groups where families slept, and rough planks were used as shelves for a small assortment of jugs, pots and trinkets. The chamber was uninhabited for the moment, sparse and cold, but Arkas could remember far less comfortable and homely abodes from when his people had roamed the mountains, following the herds and avoiding the skaven and Chaos attacks.

‘We do not live all of the time in the city,’ explained Katiya. ‘Much of the time we hunt and trap in the forests above the Bear’s Pelt. We take what metal we can from our enemies, likewise other tools and weapons. There are high pastures where we farm goats, though they are often raided by wolves and worse.’

She crossed the chamber and crouched beside a bedroll. Unfurling it, she revealed two long knives, wickedly sharp.

‘We carry weapons at all times, and even asleep it is our law that we are armed.’

‘A law I created,’ said Arkas, smiling inside his helm.

‘Indeed, and many more laws that have kept us safe.’ She turned her eyes away, embarrassed by her own awe, and rolled up the bedding again. ‘In the wild no group more than twenty gathers. We run when we can, and if we are attacked we fight only until we can run. Each third-moon we return to the City of Ice to exchange news, trade what we have scavenged and hunted, tend to the wounded and deposit the dead.’

‘Deposit?’ The low ceiling of the chamber made it hard for Arkas to follow her, and he was forced to walk in a stoop. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Many of the cursed tribes are corpse-eaters, and they will take the dead as happily as the living. And the skaven use corpses to fuel their plague winds and poxes. We try to leave no bodies. There are several shafts, run holes that go to the bottom of the glacier. Bodies go into those, into the purity of the ice, returned to Ursungorod.’

‘Very sensible,’ Arkas told her. She blushed and moved into a side tunnel. He squeezed his bulk through the opening after her, helm scraping shards from the icy roof. ‘No danger of manticores down here.’

‘That is another advantage,’ Katiya said, her wrinkles deepening as she smiled.

‘Are you their leader? Their queen?’

Katiya did not answer, but led him along a curving corridor that sloped gently upwards, slats of stones providing surer footing. The tunnel stopped and became a near-vertical shaft going up and down, metal rungs driven into the bare ice. When she shimmied up, Arkas inspected the ladder closely, dubious about its potential to hold his considerable weight. He saw that each rung had once been a blade, the edges blunted, ends turned to right angles.

Arkas tugged at one and it started to come away in his grip. Thrusting the rung back, he looked up into the shaft. It was about ten times his height, wide enough for him to fit comfortably. Turning his back to the ladder he rammed his gauntleted fingers into the ice, driving them deep enough to get a handhold. Pulling himself up, he bent his leg and repeatedly drove a boot through the wall until it could take his weight. Gathering confidence, he hauled himself up with increasing speed, leaving a trail of indentations.

‘I hope this is worth the effort,’ he said, clambering over the lip of the top.

There was no need for Katiya to speak — what he discovered at the top was answer enough.

They stood in a triangular tower made of reclaimed duardin masonry, tall enough for Arkas to stand. Three broad, shallow windows showed a view out over the ice fields in every direction. They were at a considerable elevation, much higher than where Katiya had been waiting for the Stormcasts. Two Ursungorans sat on ledges by each window, another couple sat in one corner, their bone dice clattering on the hard floor.

Moving to a window, Arkas saw banked snow packed around the tower to obscure its shape. From a distance it would be impossible to spot against the whiteness of the ice field. Yet from such a vantage point they could see far across the Bear’s Pelt. Arkas’ keen eyes picked out other humps and mounds, and the telltale slits of dark windows that would have gone unnoticed had he not been looking for them.

‘Watch towers,’ he said.

‘Also escape routes,’ Katiya added, pointing to a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling, linked to a counterweight by a thick chain. ‘We can also ambush from here, in many places across the ice field. As you know.’

‘Impressive,’ Arkas said. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. It was a smudge of darkness, barely visible, beyond one of the other watch-mounds. He had noticed a pile of logs and small red-coloured blocks in one corner. ‘Do you light beacon fires?’

‘Yes, that is how we send a message of an attack.’ Katiya moved up beside him just as flames licked into view from the summit of the intervening tower. ‘Cursed ones! They are coming along the Black River.’

‘They followed us,’ Arkas said. ‘We should investigate, find out how many.’

‘No need,’ Katiya told him. She pointed out of the windows and he saw a trio of ravens heading out from another tower, one of the birds coming towards them.

When it was close, Katiya gave a shrill whistle, much like the one that had summoned her army. The raven dropped down to the window and settled upon the ledge. Chirping and bobbing her head, Katiya held out a hand. Arkas could feel the power of Ghur wreathing around her, the magic responding to her call. The raven croaked and pecked at the sill, bobbing in agitation.