Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘As pleasant as ever,’ Tegrus murmured.

‘He is worried. We are all worried. It has been a hard path to walk, and we have shed much blood in the name of something I saw in a mad realm,’ Gardus said. They had done much good along the way. Or so he hoped. They had torn down the vile redoubts of Nurgle’s champions, and slain many a corrupted warrior on their trek across the Blight. But they had not been able to continue to follow the river. To tarry too long in the vicinity of such a corrupted body of water was dangerous, even to Stormcast Eternals. They’d had to find a safer way to the river’s source — and a quicker one. When the forest spites had offered to lead them by hidden paths to Arborea, Gardus had quickly accepted, despite Grymn’s misgivings.

He looked up at the trunk of the immense elder tree which stretched far above the city, piercing the very clouds themselves. ‘Are they up there, then?’ he asked Tegrus. ‘The floating islands you saw?’

‘Aye, far above,’ Tegrus said. ‘It’ll be quite the climb for those of you without wings.’

Gardus laughed. ‘We’ve climbed worse… Remember the Star-Heights of Azyr? At least this time we won’t have enemies hurling fire and spears down on us as we climb.’

‘As far as we know,’ Tegrus said. He looked up. ‘I will take my Prosecutors and make sure your route is a safe one. Do not doubt yourself, Steel Soul. We believe in you. All of us.’ Then, without waiting for a reply, he leapt into the air and was gone, speeding towards the dark clouds above. Gardus watched Tegrus go until he lost sight of him. He turned, as someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Morbus,’ he said, recognizing the chill of the other Stormcast’s presence.

‘Grymn is worried,’ the Lord-Relictor intoned.

‘As are you, I expect,’ Gardus said.

‘No,’ Morbus said. ‘I do not worry, Gardus. I merely observe.’

‘Maybe he’s right to be worried,’ Gardus said, looking up at the tree.

Morbus laughed softly. ‘Grymn is stone. He is sigmarite — hard and unyielding. He will break before he bends, and calls it strength. But you…’

‘Bend,’ Gardus supplied.

Morbus nodded. ‘Yes. You bend. You adapt, you persevere. That is why Sigmar chose you as his sword, Gardus. You do what must be done, rather than what you have been ordered to do.’

‘So would Grymn, if he had seen—’ Gardus began.

Morbus cut him off with a sharp gesture. ‘Grymn would never have come out of Nurgle’s garden alive. He would have fought, and died.’ The Lord-Relictor hesitated. ‘Nonetheless, sometimes he is right. I have… seen things, Gardus. I have seen death and damnation, and I would not see it come to pass.’

‘Whose death?’ Gardus asked, mouth suddenly dry. ‘Whose damnation?’

Morbus was silent. Gardus looked away. He shook himself. Only the faithful, he thought.

‘We must climb, Morbus,’ he said. ‘We have a way to go, and little time.’ He looked at the Lord-Relictor. ‘Gather the others — my fellow Lord-Celestants included. We must reach the sky-islands floating above.’

‘And then what?’ Morbus said.

Gardus hesitated. Then, ‘I will know when I get up there.’ He clenched his fists. He could sense Morbus’ concern. Before the other Stormcast could speak, he continued on, his words coming in a rush. ‘I am being driven by something I cannot define, Morbus. A vague certainty compels me — fragments of knowledge, stolen as I fled through ruined worlds, snatches of things seen at a remove of centuries — the whispers of the sylvaneth, as they bore me to safety.’ He shook his head. ‘They, and perhaps even Ghyran itself, want Alarielle found, Lord-Relictor. They want her to know, to see what has become of the world she has shrunk from. Once she sees … she will fight . Ghyran will fight. The Jade Kingdoms will rise. And all of this will not have been for nothing.’ He looked at Morbus. ‘But we must find her first.’

Morbus was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.

‘We must climb,’ he said.

Lorrus Grymn slammed the edge of his halberd into the bark of the titanic tree. Tallon chirped from his perch. The gryph-hound lay across the Lord-Castellant’s chest, held fast by hope and a sling made from Grymn’s cloak.

‘Easy boy, almost there,’ Grymn muttered as Tallon’s beak rubbed against the underside of his war-helm. The animal was worried, as he should be. Though they had the heads of eagles, gryph-hounds lacked the bird’s wings, or ease with heights. ‘Almost… there, my friend.’ He dug his fingers into the ridges of the bark, and tore his halberd free. ‘Almost there.’

This is the sheerest folly, he thought, as he paused for breath. He chanced a look back at the way he’d come. Below him, figures in silver, amethyst and gold swarmed up the trunk of the vast tree like insects. Further below them, the crumbled city of Arborea was but a series of pale indentations in the all-pervasive mist. It had taken them hours to climb to the uppermost boughs of the great tree, moving so slowly that Grymn feared the war for the Jade Kingdoms would be over before they reached the top.

One missed step, one loosed hold, would be fatal. Already several Stormcasts had perished, falling to their deaths far below as the great tree swayed and shifted on its roots. He twisted his head upwards. Gardus clung to the topmost bough of the tree, staring out over the horizon, as if lost in thought.

He’d hoped Gardus’ return meant that things would proceed as Sigmar had decreed. Instead, they had travelled halfway across Rotwater Blight to fight battles they were not prepared for, all in the name of a vision that Gardus had experienced while lost in a daemon-realm. Grymn shook his head.

When Morbus had first told him of his dreams, he’d wanted to act, to save Gardus from the fate that awaited him. Gardus was a brother Stormcast, chosen by Sigmar and worthy of Grymn’s concern. But this venture seemed doomed to failure. Others had searched for the Radiant Queen, but had found no sign of her. If Sigmar’s own hunters had turned up no sign of their quarry, who could hope to find her?

‘Only the faithful.’

Grymn looked up. Gardus’ voice was soft, but it carried far. It was no parade ground bellow, but rather the quiet rumble of a dracoth. Gardus was not looking at him. Instead, the Lord-Celestant tensed and then, before Grymn could stop him, he flung himself into the mist that obscured the air around them. Grymn hesitated. He’d known this was coming. It was the only way to reach the floating islands that Tegrus said were hovering somewhere out there. He heard a scrape of metal and saw Lord-Relictor Morbus do the same, reliquary staff in hand. He watched the other Stormcasts vanish, and gritted his teeth. What sort of madman flings himself blindly into the void? he thought, angrily.

Tallon chirruped, and Grymn looked down at the gryph-hound. He smiled thinly. ‘Yes, I know… only the faithful.’ Then, wrapping one arm protectively about the animal, he shoved himself away from the trunk of the leviathan tree, and plummeted into the swirling mist. A second of weightlessness stretched out before ending abruptly in a soft landing on the loam of the floating isle. He felt rocks and roots crumble beneath his weight, and Tallon gave a startled screech as Grymn began to slide down an incline of spongy vegetation.

He twisted about, and saw, through the thinning mist, a jagged precipice. Grymn cursed and tried to hook his halberd into something solid, but to no avail. His stomach lurched.

‘Gardus!’ he shouted, and his slide was brought to an abrupt halt as an iron grip caught hold of the haft of his halberd. Grymn looked up into the eyes of the Lord-Celestant. Gardus, hammer hooked in the loam of the island, dragged Grymn back up with his free hand.