Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘Stand ready, my brothers!’ yelled Eldroc. The footmen were attempting to pin the Stormcasts’ flanks in place, pressuring them so that more Stormcasts were drawn from the centre while it was further weakened by the magic of their leader. To the west, the Lord-Castellant caught sight of Thostos embattled, but lost him in the press of warriors gathering there again. Eldroc judged that the knights were waiting until the line’s middle was sufficiently depleted so that they could burst it asunder with their charge.

If that were the foe’s plan, it was failing. The Stormcasts did not weaken. The line remained tight; no gap opened up.

The sorcerer hunched forward. He licked his lips with his long purple tongue and cast a wary glance to the narrow valley leading to the platform. There the others of the Bladestorms were mustering. Already they had abandoned their watch on the mountain way and thundered down the stairs to join their brothers. In moments they would be upon the Chaos flank. Running out of time, the sorcerer paused in his bombardment and raised a long finger. Red light burst from it. At this signal the cavalry reared up. Their mounts screeched with hellish voices and they plunged forward, lances dropping into position. The knights clashed into the centre of the Stormcast Eternal line. Few lance points found their way past the sigmarite armour, but the warriors of Azyr were bowed by the sheer impact of the mass of twisted horseflesh, steel and Chaos-swollen men coming at them. Armoured feet squealed on rock as they were forced backward.

Eldroc’s armour sparked with fury. He stepped outside a lance’s thrust, and welcomed his attackers.

‘Vengeance!’ he called. ‘Vengeance!’

With a terrible joy he sang his battlesong, and laid about him with his halberd, spearing one giant with the tip and throwing him from his horse. A snarl announced the attack of Redbeak. The gryph-hound leapt from Eldroc’s side and bore a second Chaos knight backwards off his mount. His halberd whistled overhead and Eldroc’s heart swelled. This was what he had been made for, this was his gift from Sigmar. In another time and another place there had been another man. The life of that man had been destroyed to the sound of evil laughter — his wife, his children, his family and his tribe, all slain with wanton cruelty. He had fought, aye, but he had been bested and taken to their torture tables. As his own life was about to end he had prayed to Sigmar. He had asked not for salvation, but that he be permitted revenge. As his blood mingled with his tears, he had shouted his hatred of Chaos. He had shouted to the skies for the strength to bring down the minions of the great powers as they had hewn down his tribe and trampled their flesh into the dirt.

A vain plea, but of utmost sincerity. His prayers had been answered. Flashes of memory, long dormant, flickered through his mind. Every crushing blow sparked a recollection of pain and dread. These nightmares from the past lent greater strength to his arm. Far from tiring, he became stronger, his need for vengeance impelling his arm as much as Sigmar’s powers. Hell-forged armour cracked and shattered. and the steel-clad heads of horses were cloven through. Many great champions of Tzeentch came against him, but none could stand before his wrath. He was vengeance incarnate. His song became a wordless cry of rage and he pressed on, heedless of the danger. The line of Liberators behind him forced themselves forward against the press of the foe, following their leader into the heart of the force. Gore splashed over them as Eldroc’s halberd did its deadly work. He hacked with the axe blade and stabbed with its spear tip, smashing apart dark armour and tainted flesh alike.

A massive brute of a man clad in brass fell to the ground and Eldroc drove the spike of his halberd through his stomach with a feral cry. He drew the weapon out and swung it in a blurring arc that had the enemy’s horses rearing in fear; one could not control his steed, and Eldroc decapitated him in a spray of gore. He roared at the sight.

A gap opened around him, as the minions of Tzeentch dared not chance their skill against his. Eldroc’s rage lifted. He panted hard. For the first time since his transformation he felt the ache of exertion trouble his muscles. He yearned to leap forward and slay, but as much as he desired to let his fury take him, he could not allow it. He must lead. Berserk rage was the way of Chaos; he was a servant of Order. With a shuddering breath he willed his heart to slow and climbed atop a dead steed. From there he surveyed the battle.

The remaining Bladestorms were coming to Lord Thostos’s aid through the defile from the mountainside, and their arrival pressed the Chaos warriors there hard. In return, the Chaos worshippers moved more of their number to bolster their efforts, so that only a small knot remained embattled to Eldroc’s left. The Stormcasts were moments away from being able to turn the line. Now the Chaos army risked losing its centre.

The sorcerer had come off his platform and was calling the powers of Chaos to aid him. Magic flowed into the armour of the dead, bringing the wargear unnatural life. Animated suits lurched forward, carrying the corpses of their wearers back into battle. On those still living, broken armour flowed together. The weapons of the sorcerer’s men glowed potently.

Eldroc laughed. ‘Are such magics intended to intimidate me, mage? See here the power of Sigmar Heldenhammer manifest!’ He held aloft his warding lantern, the seat of his power and symbol of his office. Brilliant light blazed forth. Where it lit upon the Celestial Vindicators’ sigmarite, dents popped out of scarred metal, and gashes in flesh knitted themselves shut. The Stormcasts were invigorated by the light of their God-King, and redoubled their attack. But where it touched upon the scions of Chaos they reeled back. Wounds closed by the sorcerer burst open once more, and the suits of armour brought to life fell back to the ground.

The charge of the Chaos knights had been broken. The last was brought down, his steed letting out a grating, reptilian whinny as it was tripped and pushed over. Both rider and steed were obscured by hammers rising and falling.

Only the sorcerer’s bodyguard remained in the centre of the enemy line, a grim company of wicked murderers dressed like kings and armed with a daemon’s plunder. Dangerous, but few in number.

The tide was turning. It was time to press the advantage.

‘Judicators, protect the flanks!’ yelled Eldroc. His battle shout pierced the tumult of battle. The irregular rain of stormbolts ceased and two distinct barrages set up. Two-thirds of the gleaming bolts fell on the greater numbers of Chaos warriors by the entrance to the mountain path, while the other third speared down onto the small knot by the eastern flank. The stormbolts there did swift work, breaking up the formation of the warriors and leaving them at the mercy of the Eternals’ hammers and swords.

‘Liberators, to me!’ Eldroc called. Without waiting for his men, he ran across the narrow gap and plunged into the sorcerer’s bodyguard. Halberds with gibbering faces flowing over molten surfaces rose to greet him, but he smashed them aside. Screaming his oath to Sigmar over and again, he hacked his way deep into the enemy’s ranks. A solid crash came behind him as the Liberators’ shieldwall impacted the foe. He was impetuous, carving a passage alone towards the sorcerer. He spun his weapon, whirling it round his head and turning his body about to maintain its momentum. Redbeak came at his side, ripping at those few who evaded Eldroc’s wrath.

With a final crash Eldroc put down his last foe. It took him a moment to realise he had burst right through the dread regiment. The sorcerer stood just a few yards from him. They locked eyes a moment, then the sorcerer turned and fled back towards his golden platform.