Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘Wait!’ Theuderis dashed after Arkas and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We are n—’

Arkas rounded on the Knight Excelsior, seizing him by the breastplate and thrusting him against the wall. Ice chipped under the impact, Theuderis’ head jarring back in his helm.

‘We are done talking!’ growled the Warbeast. ‘We stay until daybreak to ensure the Chaos tribes do not return and then we set out for the undercity. That is the plan.’

Theuderis said nothing. Arkas released his grip and stalked away, leaving the Knight Excelsior to exchange a look with Katiya. She sighed, took up her pack and moved to follow Arkas. Theuderis stepped in front of her, holding up a hand.

‘Do you understand me?’ he said, approximating the Ursungoran tongue. He turned to Katiya.

She looked in surprise at his words. ‘You understand me?’

‘Mostly,’ Theuderis said. ‘Enough for the moment. All human language can be found in the tongue of the immortals. Your accent, your dialect is strange but brief study has revealed its workings to me. Another gift of the God-King.’

‘This is powerful sorcery, lord,’ she said, still looking at him with shock. Her manner settled and she glanced away. ‘It is good that we can speak without the Uniter.’

‘His heart is sore at the moment,’ Theuderis replied. He did not wish to speak ill of his companion, despite his misgivings, and it was important that Katiya trusted him as much as she did Ursungorod’s ‘saviour’. ‘What has he told you of us, the Stormcasts, and our mission here?’

‘He is the Uniter, he has come to lead us to victory over the cursed ones and the rat-filth.’

‘We are warriors of Sigmar, the God-King. We come from Azyr, the Realm of Heavens, where he rules. The Stormcasts are waging a war to free all of the Mortal Realms from the corruption of Chaos.’

‘I do not understand. Sigmar is a myth. What are these Mortal Realms? Lands beyond Ursungorod?’

‘In a sense. It would take me a long time to explain and you might still not understand. Sigmar is a myth, that is true, but that does not make him any less real.’ Theuderis felt pride as he spoke. ‘He is the master of the Uniter. As Arka Bear-clad brought together the tribes of Ursungorod, Sigmar will unite the Mortal Realms and the scattered gods. There are many worlds and places, all of them overrun by the darkness of Chaos and the forces of destruction, save for the sanctuary of Sigmaron and Azyr. Many people are looking for new lands to live in, lands where they can be free from Chaos and death. A land like Ursungorod, once we have rid it of the Chaos tribes and the skaven, could be such a sanctuary.’

‘You are powerful warriors, but you are so few,’ said Katiya. ‘How can you hope to destroy all of the ratkin and the cursed ones?’

‘We come on the storm of Sigmar, sent by his divine will, but there is also another way to travel between the planes of existence. Realmgates, we call them. The skaven have one. We will seize it from them and our allies will use it to reinforce us. This is a war, not a battle, Katiya. We will not win in the next day or the next ten days. I do not know what Arkas has promised you, but you must fight on for a while longer.’

Katiya looked downhearted but rallied quickly, entwining and releasing her fingers as she considered her next words.

‘There are others coming? People like us, not warriors like you?’

‘Yes, in time. Not just humans. Duardin, aelf and others. The free peoples, allied under the eyes of their gods. We will forge a new civilisation here.’

‘We are not part of the plan, are we? Arkas thinks we can stay, but he is wrong.’

‘I make no promises. I do not know how long this war will last. We have been reforged, made immortal. We cannot die, but we are no longer alive like you.’ He paused, not sure whether he should say what he had to, but Katiya deserved the truth. ‘It is unlikely you will live to see peace, Katiya. Your children, perhaps. Perhaps not. For all that Arkas protests, he will not make this decision for you. He is a servant of Sigmar, not Ursungorod, and I will remind him of that.’

‘My sons and daughter are already dead,’ Katiya replied, looking away. ‘My grandchildren have known nothing but hardship and fear. But we do not want to be safe, we want to be free. We will stay, we will fight.’

Theuderis nodded.

Ursungorod had constantly defied expectation and eluded definition since he had arrived, and continued to do so. Of all the battles and dangers he had prepared for, a confrontation with the Warbeast was not one.

The ice tunnels swallowed Arkas, deadening the distant sounds, surrounding him with their isolating whiteness. He found a small side chamber, perhaps occasionally used as a guardroom or storehouse, perhaps of no purpose at all. There was no stone, just the ice carved by pick and chisel. He ran a hand over the wall, trying to calm himself. His fingers picked out every indentation, every gouge and striation.

Hard, unforgiving labour had dug the City of Ice. Generations of Ursungorans had chosen to cling to an ideal of freedom and defiance rather than accept the dominion of Chaos. It was tempting to claim some credit for that. The Bear-clad, the Uniter, had shown their ancestors that it was possible to fight. But that was false praise. He had learnt to defy the Chaos Gods and the rat-filth from his parents, and they from theirs. His had been the most successful resistance, but not the first. Now he had the chance to make Katiya’s people the last to know what it was like to be afraid for their lives every day, to never settle for fear of discovery, to hide and make themselves small. They had exchanged one form of slavery for another, had become captives to their dread.

Was it worth it? His finger followed a channel at about chest height, ice crystals falling from the tip as he dragged it along the crack. Someone had stood where he stood, an Ursungoran, and had hewn at this wall. What had they been thinking? What did they think they were digging for? Was it just instinct, burrowing like an animal, or had the digger thought of loftier goals, of a future where they would not have to dig any longer?

All the time he had spent in Sigmaron, he had been honing his skills, becoming accustomed to his new body, a new way of war; coming to terms with the pain of Reforging, turning it into something meaningful, a sacrifice in exchange for the strength to fight back.

Hardest of all had been remembering those he had left — those he had been snatched from. Sigmar had reached out and plucked him from the battlefield. His saviour? Very likely. Arka Bear-clad would not have run that day. He would have fought and died, and with him the other free tribes would have perished too.

But he didn’t feel saved, or blessed, or righteous.

He felt the spirit of Ursungorod, the background ebb of Ghurite energy that flowed around him, and welcomed its touch. After that first moment of awareness on Mount Vazdir he had tried to fight it, to keep back the lure of the savage, bestial heart that still beat in his chest.

It called to him, begged him to be free.

It was impossible to resist. Returning to Ursungorod was not an opportunity, it was a punishment — a reminder of what he had failed to do in life. He had only to think of his ally, the Silverhand. He was just as well known among the Stormcasts. A king, a conqueror, and a unifier just like Arka Bear-clad. But he had saved his people. Sigmar had ascended the Silverhand in triumph, not defeat.

Arkas smashed a fist into the wall. Splinters scattered and a crack ran across the pale ice. He drove his other hand into the ice, again and again, feeling the power of Ghurite energy lapping at his armour, its feral howl in his ears urging him on.