Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Drokki followed the old loresmith down the lanes of cast gold. Each book was made up of triangular beads threaded onto orruk hide thongs. They were written in the high runes, three to a face, ideograms depicting entire words or discrete concepts. Not many could read them, partly because the information they conveyed was dependent on context and fiendishly dense.

‘I lived in Gaenagrik when I was a lad,’ Kaharagun said as they walked. ‘Fine hold. I was ten years old when Marthung-Grimnir Ulgaen, Grimnir warm his soul, set this place up. Ten! Can you imagine?’

Drokki could not. Kaharagun was already ancient when Drokki was born.

They stopped at a space in the rack. Kaharagun carried on talking as he unwound a bead book from his arm. ‘I’d never have thought I’d end up living here. Funny how life turns out.’ His face set. ‘Not that there was anything funny about the ur-lodge falling. Five thousand years the hold stood, and in two nights it was gone. Half the Ulgaen lodges wiped out.’ He fitted the book’s loop onto the hook on the end of his staff, using it to reach up to the top of the racks and put it back onto its numbered hook on the racks. The book swayed as he replaced it. There were eight strands of beads to it, six feet long when hung. ‘It’s a wonder we survived.’

They passed towards the very far end of the hall. Kaharagun replaced his last book, folded up the cloth on his arm, kissed it reverently, and stowed it under his robe. ‘Right then. This way. Past here are the Gaenagrik records, what we saved of them.’

He led Drokki further in. The torches in the sconces at the end of the racks were unlit and it was dark there. The careful ordering of the younger Ulgahold records gave way to a more chaotic system, if there was any system at all. The books were very old, the gold dark with age and the runes round-edged with touch-reading.

Kaharagun passed a fire iron to Drokki. Drokki spoke to the device, and the runes on it glowed then the end shone with heat. He pressed it to two torches, the pitch spluttering as it ignited. Drokki smelled burning dust. No one had been down there for a long time.

‘Hulgar, Hulgar, Hulgar…’ muttered Kaharagun. He ran his fingers along the beads. ‘Aha! Here we are. What was it you were after?’

‘His Telling of Great Omens .’

Kaharagun snorted. ‘Child’s stories.’ He unhooked a book of six strands with his staff, inspected it briefly and passed it to Drokki. ‘Volume one. Careful with it. The hide is brittle. I keep meaning to get the thongs replaced, but there’s been a shortage of orruks about since the siege began. Some might say troggoth or ogor hide works just as well, but I won’t use anything else. Can’t take the weight.’

Drokki took the book. He draped it over one shoulder rather than over his arm in the proper manner. Kaharagun frowned, but it was the only way he could read it. Drokki ran the beads through the fingers of his good hand. It was an introduction, written in Hulgar’s portentous manner. The first half of the string was a long list of thanks to various patrons.

The beads ran out. A knot had been tied in the thong to keep them from falling off, the end of it scorched hard.

‘Is there any more?’

‘Of that volume? No. Melted. There’s twenty more volumes though.’

‘I need to see them. All of them.’

‘Very well,’ grumbled Kaharagun.

Drokki and Kaharagun spent the next hour reading. There was a good deal missing from the book. One volume had come apart and been threaded back together without care for its content, and was unreadable without checking the tiny order numbers stamped into the base of each bead. Two more stopped abruptly, another started in the middle of a passage.

Volume number twelve, string four, had what Drokki needed, and what he had dreaded. His heart beat faster as he read. It was all there. Everything. The lightning, the siege, the death of the runefather. It was all there in solid gold, not a half-remembered rhyme, but a real prophecy.

Kaharagun leaned in, his old face creased in concern at the look on Drokki’s face.

‘Drokki?’ he asked. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘I very much need to borrow this,’ said Drokki.

Ulgathern-Grimnir returned to his chambers lost in thought. He was a runefather now, something he had wanted all his life, but now he had it, he felt strangely hollow inside. All that responsibility, all those people relying on him — if he could convince them to join his lodge in the first place. The plates of his robe caught on his muscles as he struggled out of it, and with relief he tossed it onto his bed. There was so much to do! He needed to appoint a runemaster, and he needed to marry…

He was so preoccupied he did not notice his visitor until she gave out a gentle cough. ‘A runefather’s greed’s worth of gold, and you toss it on the bed.’

‘Amsaralka?’

‘I should think so,’ she scolded. ‘I hope there aren’t any other maidens frequenting your chambers.’

Amsaralka stepped forward fully into the runelight. At the sight of her Ulgathern forgot the events of the last two days. Amsaralka was breathtakingly beautiful. He took in her massive shoulders, her strong, heavy miner’s arms. Her feet were delightfully huge, and he suspected the toes (he often dreamt of her toes, when life was slow) hidden behind her steel toecaps to be exquisitely blunt. Her hair was gathered into two tresses, thick as an ogor’s golden torcs, and as lustrous. Her face was wide and square, her eyes attractively far apart. She had a broad mouth and full lips, behind which hid white teeth as evenly placed as bricks.

‘What are you mooning at?’ she said, and embraced him, then stood back and gripped his upper arms. Her hands were vices on his biceps. ‘What did they say? What is Karadrakk-Grimnir’s legacy, who will be the next Runefather of Ulgaen-ar?’

Ulgathern reached up a broad finger and gently traced the downy hair on Amsaralka’s jawline. Fine hair, softer than spun gold.

‘Not I,’ he said.

She wrinkled her nose in disappointment. ‘Oh, Ulgathern.’

‘Such a pretty nose,’ he murmured. ‘Like a rock chip.’

She punched his arm. ‘This is important!’ she said. ‘Ulgathern, I don’t know what to say. You were your father’s favourite.’

‘I was his favoured,’ said Ulgathern. ‘Not favourite to lead Ulgaen-ar. He always thought me a little too frivolous.’ He toyed with the end of her tress.

She slapped his hand. ‘Leave that alone! We’re not married. And if you’re not Runefather we won’t ever be,’ she said glumly. She pushed herself away from him.

‘A runeson’s not good enough for your darling mother?’

‘Runesons end up dead. You know what she says. I’m the daughter of the Chief of the Mining Fellowship, mother won’t let me.’

‘Who says I’m a runeson?’

A brief moment of confusion flitted across her face. When her smile broke through, it was like the sun bursting out of the clouds.

‘You mean..?’

‘Yes! Father divided up the ur-gold. Ulgamaen is to be the new Runefather of Ulgean-ar. Tulgamar, Ranganak and I have been given portions. We’re to establish our own lodges in the old halls.’

Amsaralka clapped her hands. ‘We can marry!’

‘Perhaps,’ he said worriedly. He couldn’t get Drokki’s blathering out of his mind. He shook it away and said wolfishly, ‘maybe I should have a look at those toes first?’

They both glanced down at her heavy boots.

‘Not before our wedding night!’ she said sternly, then smiled, ‘which will be soon, Ulgathern- Grimnir.’ She added the honorific to his name with delight. ‘Grimnir put much fire into my belly, Ulgathern. I promise to bear you many fine sons.’