Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

There were nine hundred steps. Ulgathern-Grimnir counted them, his axe bouncing hard on his back. His lungs burned and the column straggled out. He kept his eyes on his feet, not wanting to look up and see the task that lay ahead.

The last step flew away under his feet and he burst into a vast hall built into the side of Gaenagrik Mountain. Ruddy light shone through tall slot windows, and the high mullions separating the apertures from one another were thick and angled, reinforced against earthquake and covered with protective runes.

The magic was dead, and there was a lot of damage to the hall — almost all of it, to Ulgathern-Grimnir’s keen eye, down to the shiftings of the earth. There were signs of defacement to the statues and shrines in the alcoves along two walls, but otherwise it seemed that the forces of Chaos had moved on quickly after their victory a century ago, focusing their attentions on the living Fyreslayers of the Ulmount.

A huge dais dominated one end of the hall, with seats for the hold’s highest lodge-lords. As the hold’s heart, most of these had been smashed by the Slaaneshi, their pieces added to the scattering of rubble about the floor.

‘Gate that way!’ said Brokkengird, pointing to a round arch leading into another hall. ‘This Fifthstair, only way in. All others blocked.’ He pointed back down the way they had come. ‘No other way to get here. Well, one other. Brokkengird go there now!’ With that, the berzerker set off at a run none among Ulgathern-Grimnir’s duardin could match.

‘Make lines!’ called Ulgathern-Grimnir. ‘Hearthguard to the fore. Grokkenkir!’ he called. ‘Take the women and youngflames and go with Drokki to the gate! Can you get it open?’

Drokki swallowed hard and nodded. ‘Yes, that is the easy part.’

‘Good.’ Ulgathern-Grimnir gripped his axe and looked down the stairs. ‘We’ll hold them here. Hurry!’

Drokki ran after Brokkengird through the huge round doorway into a second chamber. This was slightly smaller than the first. The run of windows continued along the mountainside there, and from this new position Drokki could see the peak of the Ulmount several miles away.

A road of cracked marble led down the length of the hall to another dais, this one crowned with a circular doorway that matched the first in form, but it was no ordinary portal.

‘The realmgate!’ gasped Drokki.

The wall of the hall was visible twenty yards behind it. Unlike the door into the hall, which was fashioned from black granite blocks, the realmgate was made of a dazzling white stone set with ur-gold runes that glowed with dormant magic.

‘Aye, aye,’ said Brokkengird. He had made the far side of the room, and stood beside an open stone door. ‘Best open it quick, or everyone die, and that make Brokkengird angry, because Brokkengird get no ur-gold. See you soon, cripple priest!’ he said, and dived through the doorway out of sight.

‘What are your orders?’ asked Grokkenkir. His vulkite berzerkers were restless behind him.

Drokki opened his mouth to answer.

‘What shall we do, runemaster?’ asked a maiden. This open show of fear set up a muttering among the duardin.

‘This was your idea!’ shouted an angry voice at the back. ‘We’re all going to die!’

The crowd surged forward around Drokki. All of a sudden they were shouting at him from every side.

‘Silence!’ bellowed a powerful female voice. ‘Shivering with fright will do us no good!’ Amsaralka pushed her way to the front of the knot. ‘I’d suggest you, Grokkenkir, get half your vulkite berzerkers down the end of the hall to stop the enemy coming in, and the other half by the gate to stop whatever might be on the other side killing us if it turns out not to be friendly. And stop glancing back through the door at the others. I know you’d rather be in the fight with your lord, but this is honourable duty, protecting the young and maidens and those others who don’t fight.’

‘Of, of course,’ stammered Grokkenkir, his cheeks colouring.

‘Go on then, get to it!’ barked Amsaralka.

Grokkenkir hastily bowed and began dividing his fighters. Amsaralka grinned at Drokki. He stared back. ‘What? I’m going to be a queen. Don’t see why I should sit at the back being quiet. Now you get about opening that door! I mean, runemaster.’

Drokki sketched a bow to her before trotting up to the realmgate dais. Brokkengird was nowhere to be seen. He’s probably waiting to rob our corpses of ur-gold once this has all died down, thought Drokki glumly.

He approached the gate. The runes inscribed onto the stones responded to his presence, calling out to him in voices only he could hear. Looking around guiltily, he unwound a bead book he had stolen from the Ulgahold from around his waist.

He began to read aloud, the beads clacking through his fingers.

Much to his relief, the first rune on the gate’s array ignited with a fiery orange light. Encouraged, he read faster.

‘Here they come!’ roared Ulgathern-Grimnir, setting his stance firmly at the top of the stair and readying his grandaxe. ‘None shall pass!’

A wall of pale-fleshed things came rushing up out of the gloom. Some were recognisable as human, others were so monstrous little trace of humanity remained.

They wore scanty clothing, most of it tight and made from soft leathers of terrible origin. The few iridescent plates of armour they bore were impractical, hooked directly into their skin. The servants of Slaanesh would endure any agony in pursuit of fresh sensation, and the range of horrible mutilations they had inflicted on themselves was dazzling in its variety.

Strong-smelling musk rolled up the stairs before them, making Ulgathern-Grimnir light-headed.

‘Give fire!’ he roared.

Rune-empowered magmapikes sang, conjuring gobbets of molten stone into their flared mouths, and spitting them forward with great force. A wave of invigorating heat engulfed the front rank of Fyreslayers. They clashed their weapons on their slingshields and roared at the oncoming horde. The lava bombs smashed into the packed mass of enemy warriors, igniting several and splashing many others with searing molten stone. The Slaaneshi screamed in ecstasy at the pain. Besides the heat of the bombs, the mass of the rock did plenty of damage, knocking them back down the steep stairs where they tangled with their fellows, creating bottlenecks that the duardin were quick to exploit. Axes flashed out, felling dozens of daemons as they scrambled over their wounded fellows. The smell of burning flesh and molten rock drove away the sickening musk of the Chaos horde.

There was time for one more round from the magmapikes, and then the Slaaneshi were into the main duardin line.

Initially the Fyreslayers had the superior position. They swept their massive axes back and forth, hewing down the Slaaneshi methodically. The hearthguard retreated behind the front line, angled their weapons upward, and continued to lob burning stone down upon the Chaos reavers. The stair’s width clogged with butchered tribesmen and cooling rock. Perfumed blood ran down the steps, making them treacherous underfoot.

Ulgathern-Grimnir threw off a lilac-furred thing that grappled with him. It landed on all fours, displayed itself lewdly at him and scampered away. Ulgathern-Grimnir grunted in satisfaction as a glob of lava caught it square in the side as it ran, killing it instantly and setting the corpse ablaze.

‘We might win this yet lads!’ he shouted. ‘Grimnir! Ulgahold! Barakaz-dur !’

The Chaos worshippers retreated down the steps. ‘Yeah, go on, run off back to your silky pavilions! All mouth, the lot of you!’ His crowing faltered. From the corners of his eyes he became aware of the blood of his kin. Fyreslayers kicked the corpses of their foes down the stairs. Their eyes glowed with ragefire. Cinders puffed from the mouths of the angriest.