Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘If you’re half as good a mother as a miner, I’d expect at least a score,’ he said.

They closed their eyes and touched noses. They held each other, happy for a moment, all the concerns of the outside world shut out.

‘Oh good, you’re in,’ Drokki said.

Ulgathern turned round to see the Runesmiter in the doorway, his withered arm held rigidly by his side.

‘Ring the bloody gong next time, Drokki!’ said Ulgathern, his face flushing crimson. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy here?’

‘Ah yes, right. Uh, hello, Amsaralka,’ said Drokki absentmindedly. ‘What I’ve got to show you is important. Er, congratulations by the way. I suppose I have to call you Ulgathern-Grimnir now, or, or my lord?’

‘Go away , Drokki. Whatever it is can wait until morning. We’ve got a wedding to plan.’ He grinned at Amsaralka, and reached for her hand, but she slipped away.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said quietly. She left with her eyes downcast.

Ulgathern narrowed his eyes at his friend. ‘Now look what you’ve done.’

‘Er, what have I done?’

‘Don’t you have any sense of common decency? You’ve shamed her, you catching us cuddling like that! Think of the gossip.’

‘I’m sorry. But, but you have to listen, or it’s not going to matter. Records. You’re not going to want to see, but you have to.’

‘Drokki, I am not going tramping down to the Hall of Memory with you at this hour.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Drokki whistled. Two strapping young battlesmiths trooped in, carrying a rack dangling dozens of records strings. The gold clacked and slapped as they trotted in. ‘It was important enough that Kaharagun let me take the book. Put it there,’ said Drokki.

‘Don’t! Stop!’ said Ulgathern. But it was too late, the young duardin had put the rack down and were bowing their way backwards out of the door.

‘Really. Sorry, I am, I mean. But you have to read this.’

Ulgathern sighed and pulled at his moustache. ‘Clearly you’re not leaving. What is it?’

Drokki bared his teeth nervously. ‘The end, the end of everything. Ulgathern, we have to abandon the Ulmount.’

‘What?’

‘Hulgar’s The Great Omen ! I know! You keep saying it is another of his bad prophecies, that it’s just a rhyme. But I know you’re worried too. When we were at the funeral I was watching the storm, and I got thinking. It’s happening, Ulgathern. Next week is the one hundred and first anniversary of the beginning of the siege. The Runefather is dead ‘by stealth and surprise’ just like in Hulgar’s poem. The storm is not like anything we’ve seen before, it’s…’

‘ Salvation and disaster, the end of a hold, where once was two is now one, but even that will be undone? ’ quoted Ulgathern. ‘Grimnir’s fires, Drokki, you can’t put any faith in that doggerel. Hulgar was a fat fool.’

Drokki held up the beads. ‘The original is more detailed. It’s all here! Hulgar was certain of it. Look!’

‘You know I don’t read the high runes.’

Drokki blinked. His face was white and sweaty in a way unnatural for a Fyreslayer. ‘You have to believe me, Ulgathern. The Ulgahold, it’s going to fall.’

Ulgathern sighed through his teeth. ‘All right. Show me.’

‘You expect me to believe this, nephew?’ said Briknir-Grimnir.

‘Drokki says it’s all there in plain gold,’ said Ulgathern. Ulgathern-Grimnir, he had to keep reminding himself. He tried to stand taller in his uncle’s imperious stare. He really should, now he was a runefather himself, but the older Fyreslayer intimidated him. A sixteenth share of Ulgaen-ar’s ur-gold seemed nothing when he stood before so great a lord. ‘I didn’t want to believe him either but—’

‘Drokki of the Withered Arm!’ sneered Tulkingafar. ‘A know-nothing fool.’

Ulgamaen-Grimnir held up his hand and gave Tulkingafar a nervous look, unsure as yet of his authority over his father’s runemaster. Tulkingafar snorted and fell silent.

‘Well,’ said Briknir-Grimnir. ‘Well!’ He slapped the golden arms of his high throne. The duardin of Ulgaen-ar and the three new, as-yet-unnamed lodges were guests of Ulgaen-zumar and met in their High Seat. The Ulgahold was a modest place compared to some, but even its throne halls were vast and lofty, the ceilings of gleaming stone so tall that the eight-foot high runes around the frieze at the top looked no bigger than a babe’s fingernails.

‘It is Hulgar, isn’t it?’ said Marag-Or of the Golden Eye. He sat in his runemaster’s chair, dwarfed by the huge carvings of Grimnir surrounding him. ‘It is said he caused a lot of trouble in Gaenagrik in the old days, predicting this and that. It is also a matter of history that his record of accuracy was somewhat patchy.’

‘But some of his prophecies were right,’ said Ulgathern.

‘And a lot of them were wrong,’ said Marag-Or. ‘ The war of a hundred and one years will come to an end, as lightning cleaves the sky, salvation comes late for those that see no sense, greed overcomes virtue and the lodge-line shall be broken, ’ said Marag-Or. ‘That’s the one that’s got Drokki all in a lather, isn’t it?’ He leaned forward, the beads in his grey-shot orange beard clacking together. ‘Drokki, Drokki. What’s to be done?’

‘What are you suggesting, Ulgathern-Grimnir?’ said Briknir-Grimnir.

‘That we head for the Broken Plains of Aqshy and the Volturung. They’re our ancestral kin. They will take us in.’

‘For the love of Grimnir,’ muttered Briknir-Grimnir. ‘We’ve not had any contact with them for a hundred years!’

‘We’ve not had contact with anyone for a hundred years,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir. ‘We’ve been under siege for over a century. Qualar Vo is not—’

‘Do not utter that name in my throne hall!’ yelled Briknir-Grimnir. An uncomfortable silence fell. The new runefathers looked uneasily at one another.

Ulgathern-Grimnir swallowed. ‘He is not going to give up. There are more of the Slaaneshi out there than ever. It’s only a matter of time. Volturung were always the strongest among our kin lodges. They’re the most likely to still be there.’

‘If you don’t die on the way, which you will,’ said Briknir-Grimnir. ‘Can you have a word with Drokki?’ said Briknir-Grimnir to Marag-Or. ‘Get this nonsense out of his head?’

‘I will, Runefather. As soon as we’re done here.’

‘He should never have been accepted into the temple,’ said Tulkingafar.

Marag-Or turned his sole good eye on the younger runemaster. ‘Aye, but he was. By me. Drokki’s a good lad. Only the one arm, and he draws the cleanest runes out of the ur-gold I’ve seen for a long time. He’s better than you were when I trained you, runemaster. Bear that in mind when you’re badmouthing him.’

Tulkingafar’s lips curled. Sparks sprang up in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but the fires of his heart were stoked by his hatred of Drokki.

‘That’s that then,’ said Briknir-Grimnir.

‘With all reverence, uncle, it is not!’ Ulgathern-Grimnir said.

Briknir opened his mouth and shut it again, setting it firm. ‘What then?’

‘I have a very bad feeling about it, here, in my fires.’ He patted his stomach and hurried on before he could be interrupted. ‘Next week it’ll be one hundred and one years since the siege began. We’ve suffered some setbacks recently.’ He did not cite his father’s death. ‘There’s this storm… We should go.’

‘Lad, runefather,’ said Marag-or, ‘that prophecy could apply to anyone, anywhere in any realm at any time. How many hundred-year sieges have there been since Chaos came to the realms? It’s not one or two, let me tell you.’