Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

The trumpeting roar of a magmadroth boomed from the stairwell, followed by a wash of fire.

‘Then again, maybe not,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir.

Brokkengird bounded out of the stairwell, framed by a blazing ball of ur-salamander bile. Ulgathern-Grimnir marvelled at how high he leapt, his legs lent incredible strength by his ur-gold. The runes burned all over him with unfettered fire. His eyes and mouth shone as brightly as a forge’s heart. The air wavered around him.

Brokkengird came down swinging. His axe was a blur, taking one of the daemon’s arms off at the elbow. Stinking black blood jetted from the stump, but though it roared in outrage, the daemon responded immediately with its own weapons. Brokkengird moved so quickly his body was streaked with glowing trails of fire magic. He and the daemon traded blows furiously.

The sneer on the daemon’s face shrank and vanished as it was forced back by Brokkengird’s relentless attack. It lashed its whip round and round, seeking to keep Brokkengird away. The grimwrath berzerker grabbed it, and yanked hard. His muscles were so saturated in magic he had the might to challenge a Keeper of Secrets. Qualar Vo stumbled, falling to one knee. With a triumphant ululation, Brokkengird spun on the spot, sweeping his mighty axe around and down. The daemon’s head tumbled to the stone, the black fluid that served it for blood spraying forth.

From the stairwell emerged a magmadroth, huge and furious. The black and red striping of its hide was instantly recognisable to Ulgathern-Grimnir; Grakki-grakkov, Tulgamar-Grimnir’s mount.

‘Tulgamar!’ he called. ‘Tulgamar!’

Ulgavost looked up at the name and saw for the first time the arrival of their brother. He shot Ulgathern-Grimnir a grin and charged into the tribesmen between their position and Tulgamar-Grimnir. Fyreslayers came in Tulgamar’s wake, slaughtering all before them. The magmadroth stamped around itself, crushing the Slaaneshi under its giant clawed feet. It half-turned, its tail sweeping a dozen men from the ground and sending them crashing to their deaths against the wall. It drew back its head, its chest swelled, and it spat out thick bile that ignited on contact with the air, spattering a swathe of the enemy with fire.

‘Grimnir! Grimnir!’ shouted Ulgathern-Grimnir. His exhausted duardin had fought free of their knot. Most of the Chaos warriors were dead. What had been a fight for survival had turned in their favour and become an extermination. They cut down the remaining daemon-lovers without mercy.

Soon enough, Ulgathern-Grimnir found himself standing before Tulgamar.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said, grinning with relief. ‘I thought you weren’t going to come!’

‘You know I considered it.’ Tulgamar slapped the steaming hide of his mount. ‘The choice was presented to me again, and this time in your favour, when Mangulnar opened the forbidden gate. Daemons and worse poured into the middle deeps, and at the same time they attacked the Hardgate, sending great beasts against it. Drokki was right. The hold has fallen, Ulgathern-Grimnir. We barely got out alive. We followed your trail, fearful of the daemonkin and of Brokkengird.’

The grimwrath berzerker gave them a cheery wave at the mention of his name.

‘But then he brought us here, and, well. You know the rest.’

‘What happened to Mangulnar?’

Tulgamar shrugged. ‘I can only pray to Grimnir he found the reward he deserved.’

‘Ranganak? Ulgamaen? Briknir? The others…?’

‘All of them dead, or soon to be,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir sorrowfully. ‘We have Marag-Or, and I have maybe three hundred warriors with me, double that of the folk from all the lodges.’

The ground shook, a sign of an impending eruption. The whole of Gaenagrik shuddered.

‘The runemasters have called upon the Ulmount. They’re bringing it down,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir.

‘We have to go,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir. ‘This way.’ The three of them ran into the gate hall, hundreds of duardin streaming after them.

The realmgate’s aperture glowed bright. On the other side was the peaceful scene of a ruined city being reclaimed by forest; a hot, humid day bright with sunshine filtered through dissipating mist.

‘Drokki! You did it!’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir.

‘Yes, yes I did,’ said Drokki, sounding somewhat surprised.

‘Where does it lead?’ said Ulgavost.

‘The city of Vharrashee.’

‘Mannish?’ said Ulgavost.

Drokki nodded. ‘It was. No longer. This was Gaenagrik’s main trading partner in the Mordash lowlands. That is why this gate went there. The Volturung hold is some way from there.’

Through the great windows of the hall they could see the Ulmount erupting. Lava fountained skyward, the amount of it and height it attained lending it the illusion of slowness. Orange tongues of fire ran down the mountainside. The ground shook.

‘The mountain sings its songs of fury,’ said Ulgavost softly.

Gaenagrik shook again. Rubble crashed down at the far end of the hall.

‘It won’t save them. It will kill us too, if we do not go through the gate,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir urgently.

Ulgavost nodded. Without another word, he stepped through the gate. On the other side he looked around, inspecting the ruins. Tulgamar-Grimnir barked orders that sent a large regiment of his own, fresher warriors after his brother to protect him.

Ulgathern-Grimnir roused his own weary people. ‘Get them up. We need to leave. Now.’

‘What kind of land is it, through there?’ asked Tulgamar-Grimnir of Drokki.

‘I can tell you… Well, I can tell you what kind of land it was , but what kind it is now? That we will have to see.’

‘Are you sure Volturung still stands?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Huh,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir. ‘Oh well.’ He stamped down on the thick scales of his mount. ‘Huphup, Grakki-grakkov! Into the woods! You’re going home to the lands of fire!’

The great ur-salamander rumbled happily, and plodded through the realmgate.

Drokki and Ulgathern-Grimnir remained on the Ghur side of the gate, shepherding their relatives and followers through. Marag-Or came last.

Ulgathern-Grimnir grabbed his arm before he could pass through the shimmering skin of magic dividing one realm from the next. ‘Tell me. If I had done as my father asked, and not listened to Drokki, would the hold have fallen?’

‘Prophecies are tricky things, Ulgathern-Grimnir,’ said Marag-Or. ‘Often they contain the seed of their own fulfilment. Who can tell?’ He pulled his arm free, and passed through the realmgate.

Drokki went next, leaving Ulgathern-Grimnir alone in the shaking halls of Gaenagrik.

He took one last look at the burning Ulmount before stepping through to another world.

He never set eyes upon his home again.

Eight days after coming into the realm of Aqshy, the Ulgaen lodges came weary and footsore down mountain paths to the Broken Plains. Through beastman-infested swamps and into the arid Firespike Mountains they had travelled. The mood of the lodges was mixed. In Aqshy they found much to delight them, and being in their ancestral realm lifted their spirits. In the swamps the air was as warm and thick as that of a forge, and pleasingly sharp in the mountains. But their thoughts strayed often to their lost kin. They had little food, and were alone in a hostile land.

So it was that when the plains opened up before them their hearts lifted. They were as broken as their name suggested, a country-sized lava flow that had been cracked by the movements of the earth into giant broken plates of stone, all tilted at thirty degrees, their raised sides pointing away from the mountains. They were all of a size — an endless sharp-edged landscape of black teeth salted with white sand. The plains were featureless, but for a duardin causeway running down the middle of the plain parallel to the mountain range. The road was obvious from on high, but as they reached the plains it disappeared between the jagged stone teeth, leaving the Fyreslayers to negotiate a labyrinth that taxed even their finely honed sense of direction.