Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘What?’ Hastor stepped forwards, shaking his head.

‘I do not understand,’ admitted Theuderis. ‘Are you placing yourself under my command?’

‘I am,’ said Arkas. He drew his warhammer. The celestial weapon shone in the pre-dawn gloom, bathing them all with pale blue light. He offered it to Theuderis, a gesture of fealty. ‘You are the general, the king. You are the strategist. I am a brute. Cleverer than most, but still a brute in my heart. Guide my hand and it will smite our foes.’

Theuderis had no response at first. He looked at the assembled Celestial Vindicators, his expression hidden behind his mask, eyes cloaked in the shadow of his helm. He nodded.

‘I accept. And I apologise for doubting you. Perhaps, despite prior experience, we might actually possess sufficient wisdom between us.’

While dawn brightened the forest, the Lord-Celestants planned. Arkas told Theuderis everything he knew of the skaven tunnels, though long centuries would have changed much. However, the more he recalled the vision he had received from the Queen of the Peak, the more certain he was that he could find the realmgate.

While plans were discussed, the Ursungorans started to wake. Arkas became aware of their coughs and gentle moans in the background. He paid the noise little heed until he heard his name tersely called. It was a young man, twenty years perhaps, nervously wringing his deer hide hat in his hand. There was fear written across his face and his glance kept moving back to a group of Ursungorans a short distance away. They were crowded around a blanketed figure, concerned. Several Warbeasts interposed themselves, stopping the approaching native.

‘A moment, by your leave,’ Arkas said to Theuderis and received a nod in reply. He approached the Ursungoran, waving his warriors aside. ‘What is your name? What is wrong?’

‘Mika, our Uniter. I am Mika.’ He flopped a hand towards the others. ‘My brother. Elder brother. He is sick.’

‘Sick?’ A cold feeling crept into the pit of Arkas’ stomach as he strode over to the group. One of them was still in his bedroll. He could hear the man’s wheezing breaths, each touched by wetness in his lungs. There were scabs at the corners of his mouth and in his nostrils. ‘How long?’

‘He was well when we ate last night,’ said an old man swathed in a thick shawl. His spindly fingers teased at some loose threads in its weave. ‘Bortis had quite the appetite.’

Bortis was awake, but only just. His eyes were yellowy, pupils little more than pinpricks staring without sight up into the trees. He kept swallowing hard, each time a wince creasing the skin at the corner of his eyes. The Warbeast crouched to examine him more closely. The Ursungoran’s gums were bleeding, his tongue swollen.

‘Show me his arms,’ Arkas commanded, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

They complied, rolling back the tattered sleeve of Bortis’ coat. The veins stood out like wire beneath his pale skin. His fingers twitched spasmodically, the brittle nails split and cracking.

‘Wait here. Light a fire to keep him warm,’ Arkas said, rising to his feet.

They looked up at him, hope and desperation etched into their faces. Arkas was thankful they could see nothing of his expression, nor his doubtlessly ashen skin. They did not ask if Bortis was going to be all right, and for that Arkas was also grateful, because he could not lie to them.

Returning to Theuderis, he gestured for the Silverhand to meet him. Exchanging a last few words with Attaxes, the Lord-Celestant approached.

‘Plague,’ Arkas said before Theuderis could ask what was wrong. ‘Skaven-pox of some kind.’

‘How many?’ Theuderis asked, looking past Arkas’ shoulder and then turning towards the rest of the camp.

The Warbeast felt dead inside as he replied. It was better that way, to feel nothing. The alternative was too hard to contemplate.

‘All of them, perhaps. If it came from the rat-fog in the tunnels…’

‘Quarantine? Purging?’

‘There’ll be no purge! These people have seen every horror of war, plague and famine. That is the fact of life in Ursungorod. They can deal with it.’ He cast a glance behind to confirm what he suspected. ‘As for quarantine… See how the other groups do not approach. They already know what is happening. They are not strangers to this.’

‘Everybody has been exposed.’

Arkas sighed heavily. ‘Yes. Those that weren’t infected during the attack have been nearby ever since. There might be a few families, maybe some that escaped but haven’t made it to the camp yet.’

Neither of them said anything for a while. Arkas was too familiar with the scenario. He had seen how this devastating turn of events unfolded before, whole clans wiped out. As the Uniter he had razed villages to the ground to rid them of the Pestilens-taint.

‘We keep watch, keep the camp safe, that is all we can do,’ said Arkas.

‘We cannot afford distractions. We still have to finalise the plan for the assault on the realmgate.’

‘We do,’ said the Warbeast, dragging his eyes away from Bortis and his family. He focussed on Theuderis, but the effort of maintaining an air of control and calm was almost too much. ‘Do not worry about leaving guards here, Silverhand. When we attack, the skaven will have more to deal with than they have ever feared. We cannot protect the Ursungorans against this latest wrong. We can avenge them.’

‘I understand that you want to strike back at the skaven to punish them for this,’ said the Knight Excelsior. ‘In time we will wipe them from the face of the mountains. We will purge the bowels of Ursungorod of every skaven and Chaos-tainted soul to be found.’

‘Aye, as it will be in all of the Mortal Realms when we drive Archaon from the All-gates.’

Theuderis laid his hand on Arkas’ arm, a placating gesture.

‘But not today. Not this battle.’

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’ Arkas tried to pull his arm away but Theuderis’ grip tightened and his tone was insistent.

‘We fight for the realmgate. We will seize the realmgate and guard it for as long as we must. As instructed by Sigmar himself, when the gate is ours Glavius will call for my Lord-Castellants to arrive with the rest of the Strike Chamber. When all is secure, when the realmgate is opened and ready for the attack on the Lifegate, the cleansing will begin.’

‘I swore an oath, many times, to destroy the skaven and free Ursungorod from their clutches,’ Arkas said, prising himself from Theuderis’ grip. ‘You do not need to lecture me on how that will be done, Silverhand.’

‘Very well.’ Theuderis stepped away and looked around the camp. ‘Make whatever provisions you need to deal with this… situation. I want to march at noon.’

‘I’ll find you soon enough,’ Arkas assured him.

He turned away. Hastor and the others officers moved to approach but he waved them back without a word.

His warhammer seemed heavy in his grasp as he walked out into the woods, a sign of his inner burden.

He could leave it, throw it away, dispense with the burden. To do so invited a very dangerous train of thought. The hammer was a badge, the symbol of the God-King. It was Sigmar’s authority. It was also Arkas’ duty, which was why it weighed so heavily at the moment.

The Warbeast looked back through the trees. The sun had not yet penetrated the canopy and only the light of celestial beacons shone through the camp. By the pale blue glow he could see the Stormcasts moving back and forth, the deadly warriors utterly unable to combat the threat growing in heart of the encampment. The Ursungorans were rousing in greater numbers, awakening to the news of infection and plague. Mothers and fathers would have to look at their children and know that these could be their last days together.