Warbeast, p.4
Warbeast, page 4
The formation changed organically to match the variations in terrain, the different elements repositioning as they passed along defiles or spread out across valley floors. By mid-morning the sun was hidden behind the clouds again, its wan light barely penetrating the deep gorges and ravines.
At times they were hemmed in by vertiginous cliff faces of solid ice, chasms barely wide enough for the Stormcasts to walk three abreast. Inside the frozen walls could be seen the dim shapes of carcasses from gigantic beasts and the bones of monsters consumed in aeons past. More disturbing were the shark-like apparitions that lived within the solid ice scavenging on these remains, half-seen creatures with long fangs and dagger-spined fins.
Amongst the blue-needled trees, they would hear the tinkling of metal and come across great oak-like arboreal giants with bark of iron and leaves of bronze. The column found itself negotiating winding trails that seemed to shift as they passed, the trees moving imperceptibly, subtly closing off routes and opening others, directing their progress towards dark ravines and coursing rivers that fumed like boiling blood.
They passed much evidence of the ancient human and duardin strongholds that had once dominated these lands. All was worn and broken by countless years, but from the back of Tyrathrax here and there Theuderis spied a rune-etched column or some carved face of a deity long consumed by the ravaging Chaos Gods. In places, the tribes had tried to rebuild parts of the mountains-spanning dead city, leaving ramshackle walls and circular encampments of piled stone. Symbols of the Dark Powers were daubed on these hovels and there was other evidence of depraved practices.
‘I thought the Realms of Beasts would be teeming with life,’ remarked Voltaran. ‘Yet all I hear is the wind and tread of boots. Not a bird cry or snuffle or growl.’
Theuderis had noticed the silence too and developed a theory.
‘It is our presence that stills them. We carry with us the light of Sigmar, the power celestial. Long they have nestled in the crux of the Dark Gods’ embrace – they are suffused with its corruption.’ He gazed about at the tumbled rocks and spiny trees that littered the slope around them. ‘Trust nothing here, no matter how fair-seeming. All has been touched by Chaos.’
‘You think nothing has survived of what once was?’
‘There is no purity to be found in this forsaken realm, Voltaran. When it has been purified, when we have seized the realmgates and wrested the Allpoints from accursed Archaon, the beauty of the untrammelled wilderness will blossom again and those untouched by the darkness will live here in peace.’
‘That is a very long time yet, Lord-Celestant. The work has only just begun.’
‘Yet longer has the Lord Sigmar planned this return. In an age the Mortal Realms fell. Not overnight will they be restored to goodness. Be comforted that each region we purge, each realmgate we seize, brings that blessed state closer.’
‘In the God-King’s name.’
‘For eternity may he reign.’
They continued on for some time, the landscape growing ever more barren and contorted as they progressed. The slopes were gouged with great welts that wept ruddy blood-like tar and the Prosecutors scouted far and wide to find the best route through the maze of pits, ruins and chasms that blocked the army’s route. At times Theuderis was forced to dismount to allow his dracoth to negotiate a steep climb, and just after noon he and many others were virtually on their hands and knees, pulling themselves up the near-vertical wall of a canyon. Tyrathrax scrambled up behind, panting hard, her claws scratching against the unforgiving rock.
Theuderis dragged himself over the lip of the cliff, joining the several dozen Stormcast Eternals of the vanguard who were already there. A sudden wild cawing and a mad flapping of wings announced the rise of a panicked flock of huge crows, each with a wingspan that rivalled a star-eagle’s. Other birds were wildly trilling and shrieking, taking to the skies in haste, predators and prey fleeing together.
The ground trembled.
Theuderis launched himself back towards the cliff edge, skidding along the brown grass with outstretched arms. The clifftop bucked even as he reached the edge. He looked down and saw Tyrathrax looking back at him, her pale blue eyes staring out of the slits in her gilded chamfron. To either side the ascending Stormcast Eternals doubled their efforts, heaving themselves between footholds, cracks and small ledges.
‘Jump!’ the Lord Celestant roared, digging the fingers of his left hand deep into the dirt and throwing out his right.
The dracoth bunched its muscles and leapt even as the face of the cliff sheared away.
Theuderis snatched a horn as it passed close to his hand, pulling with all of his strength to wrap his arm around the neck of his faithful mount. Tyrathrax’s claws gouged furrows in the disintegrating stone. The Lord-Celestant powered to his feet, dragging the dracoth with him in a welter of rock shards and clumps of mud.
‘Stay back from the edge!’ he bellowed over the cracking and groaning of tortured earth, as warriors of the vanguard moved to aid their companions on the cliff. There was nothing they could do and more would be lost.
Theuderis staggered away, pulling Tyrathrax after him, the ground rising and falling violently under his feet. Twice he fell to his knees and he let go of the dracoth to look back. The cliff was still tumbling away, breaking apart in boulders and sheets as the strata split, the edge moving closer and closer. It settled just a few strides away.
A few of the Stormcasts made it to safety. Armour cracked and buckled as they clambered through the deluge of rock. Beyond them the landslide was lit by detonations of power, glimmers of lightning as Theuderis’ warriors were crushed and pummelled, their physical remains summoned back to Azyr by Sigmar’s magic, there to be forged anew. The gleams from many who perished were swallowed by the burgeoning cloud of dust and grit that billowed up from the gorge. A last convulsion threw the surviving Stormcast Eternals to the ground. Theuderis’ legs buckled beneath him as the clifftop briefly dropped away and then sharply rose up to meet him like a bucking steed.
The shaking subsided. Commanding Tyrathrax to stay, Theuderis pushed himself to his feet and made his way carefully to the slew of broken rock that now descended into the valley. The shattered bodies of wounded Stormcasts were strewn amongst the grey and brown. The quake had lasted no more than a dozen heartbeats but had done as much damage as any enemy attack.
After the deafening tumult, the quiet was profound. It was quickly broken as the Stormcasts still alive called out, some shouting for aid, other voices coming from the Primes as they tallied who remained and who had been taken. The raucous cries of the circling birds echoed along the ravine to join the hiss of streaming dirt, the creak of settling stone and the last resounding thuds of rocks bouncing further down the defile.
Theuderis clambered down into the anarchy of piled boulders and broken tree trunks, scanning the debris. Movement above drew his attention to the descending flights of Prosecutors, the Knights-Venator gesticulating to the carnage below.
‘Back!’ roared Theuderis, waving his hand to attract their attention. ‘Back to your posts! If the enemy come upon us in this parlous state we are ruined. Keep vigilant!’
The flying warriors acknowledged his command and ascended, wings thrumming with celestial power, spreading out to form a watchful cordon. Theuderis joined his warriors, lifting the rocks and hurling them away with superhuman strength to unearth the Stormcasts trapped beneath. He pulled away a boulder to reveal a Retributor, his starsoul mace still tightly gripped in his hands. Blood seeped from a gouge across his chest, but he turned his head to look at the Lord-Celestant.
‘It will take more than a mountain falling on me to keep me from the fight, my lord.’
‘Elegias?’
The Retributor nodded.
‘I saw Vortemon Azyr-drawn. You are Retributor-Prime now. Lead well.’
‘I am honoured,’ replied Elegias, grasping Theuderis’ proffered arm to haul himself out of the rubble. Others were also emerging from the crush, the hardened sigmarite of their armour bearing scuffs, dents and cracks inflicted by the earthquake’s fury.
Some were not so fortunate. Theuderis levered aside a boulder almost as large as the warrior beneath, freeing a Judicator named Sementor. His arm had been ripped off by the churning rocks and his boltstorm crossbow lay off to the side, mangled amongst the stones. The side of his helm had been caved in, too, jagged edges cutting deep to the bone of the exposed skull, a single blue eye revealed.
‘I cannot fight on, my lord,’ said Sementor. ‘I shall be no burden to the Silverhands. Sigmar calls me.’
‘And he will remember your sacrifice,’ Theuderis said quietly, drawing his runeblade to place the point between Sementor’s cuirass and his helm. ‘We shall meet again on the far side of the forge.’
He leaned his weight onto the weapon, pushing it deep. The Judicator’s body crackled and vanished, leaving the faintest aftertrail of blue heading skywards from the point where he had lain.
They worked their way down to the rock-littered canyon floor. As they descended, the survivors grew fewer and fewer – those at the bottom had faced the full weight of the cliff coming down upon them. Theuderis lifted clear another of his companions, the Knight-Heraldor Attaxes Darkbane. The plates of his armour seemed mostly undamaged; only the weight of the rocks pinning him down had necessitated assistance. Nodding his thanks, Attaxes retrieved his slender clarion.
‘I thought…’ The Knight-Heraldor’s voice trailed off as he turned his head to look past Theuderis.
Casting his gaze about, the Lord-Celestant saw that many of the others had stopped their labours and were also staring back up the slope. He turned to see what had caught their attention.
The stones of the rockfall had parted into two main flows, leaving an uneven expanse of the grey cliff between them. At first Theuderis could see nothing, just jags of rock and striations. And then, tilting his head slightly, the image came to him, the shadows and light resolving into a picture. It was unmistakable – the cliff had formed the face of a gigantic roaring bear, with sharp promontories of rock for fangs, and exposed clay beds casting a red hue within the open mouth.
‘What do you suppose that is?’ said Attaxes.
‘Proof of this land’s corruption,’ replied Theuderis. He said nothing more, but it seemed more than coincidence that the earthquake had struck at the most damaging moment.
He called out to the others to free their remaining companions and did the same himself. When the last of the buried Stormcasts had been dragged from the toppled boulders, the army ascended once again, though Theuderis remained behind for some time, staring at the cliff face. The sun had moved and the image was no longer there, and had not his companions also seen the apparition he would have dismissed it as a hallucination brought on by the sudden stress of the earthquake.
A rasping bark from Tyrathrax drew his attention away, to where his sub-commanders awaited him at the top of the rock pile. Suppressing his unease, Theuderis pulled himself over the rocks and joined them, glad to put the depressing episode behind him. His Knight-Vexillor, Knight-Heraldor and the most senior of the Knights-Azyros, Samat, attended to him.
‘Our strength is much diminished, my lord,’ reported Voltaran. ‘Nearly half of the Paladin Conclaves were lost, and a third of our remaining warriors.’
‘We press on regardless,’ commanded Theuderis. ‘Sigmar shall see fit to return them to us when needed. Let us not turn an unfortunate incident into a disaster. The Warbeasts are depending upon us to make rendezvous in three days, and we will make the meeting point in two. Samat, spread the search groups further ahead. Find me the swiftest route to the inland region.’
‘As you will it, Lord Silverhand,’ replied the Knight-Azyros.
‘If I might make a suggestion, my lord,’ Voltaran said quietly. Theuderis nodded. ‘Overground is proving troublesome. Perhaps there is an alternative. The ruins of the subterranean city of the duardin are said to stretch far into Ursungorod.’
‘We would lose my warriors’ mobility,’ said Samat.
‘And there is no reason to believe the underground passages have survived in any fit state,’ said Theuderis. ‘Also, I would have the skaven remain unaware of our presence for as long as possible. Delving into their underground domain would be sure to announce our arrival, but overground we might yet continue a day or two unnoticed by them.’
‘If Arkas and his Warbeasts draw their eye, we might even be upon them before they know it,’ said Attaxes.
‘I am certain Arkas is making quite a disturbance,’ replied Theuderis.
Chapter Six
During the ascent of Mount Vazdir, the air grew thinner and colder, until the breath of the Warbeasts followed them like a mountain fog. But the snows held and, except for the ever-present dark clouds, the skies were clear for the Prosecutors to lead the way. At first they had reported a steep climb marked by treacherous ridges and thick forest, but the way proved less than formidable. The dense thickets of trees appeared to open up before the Stormcasts and the winding trails seen by the scouts resolved into broader paths, as though the mountain itself wished to speed them on their way.
Arkas led from the front. There were some Lord-Celestants who preferred the distance of command, placing themselves in the main body so that they might act and observe more dispassionately. He had heard as much regarding Theuderis Silverhand. Arkas considered himself a more intuitive leader in battle. Just as one had to look into the eye of a foe to judge their character and intent, so he had to be in the forefront of the clash of arms to know, to feel, the best course of action to take.
‘I am sure we saw those trees before,’ remarked Dolmetis, indicating a stand of immense pines ahead of them. ‘Are we sure Hastor is not entertaining himself at our expense?’
‘I forgive your ignorance, so perhaps Hastor will forgive your distrust,’ replied Arkas. ‘Those are spectral pines – the leaves are bluer than the mountain firs we saw earlier. And the ways of Ursungorod are not always straight. It might seem but a javelin’s throw to your destination, but a defile separates you that cannot be crossed but at the expense of half a day’s march.’
‘Or the opposite,’ Dolmetis said quietly. ‘I feel that we are not being welcomed so much as lured...’
Arkas stopped, sensing a ripple of energy flowing through the roots of Ursungorod. He held up a hand to halt the army. A heartbeat later he felt the ground shiver. Some snow fell from the tree branches and slid across drifts, but nothing more serious. In moments the tremor had passed.
His mortal experiences meant that, despite the intervening age, he could feel Ursungorod as closely now as when he had been the Bear-clad. The perturbations in the Ghurite energy told him that the quake had been to the west – from where Theuderis approached. He hoped his fellow Lord-Celestant had weathered the incident well.
More days than not witnessed a quake in Ursungorod. It had made it impossible to launch an attack on the skaven lairs, as entrances opened and closed with every earth movement. This time would be different – he had an army capable of breaching the underdeeps and even the Shadowgulf itself. He would strike like a dagger into their heart.
A flit of shadows heralded the arrival of a quintet of Prosecutors. Their Prime, Venian, landed in front of Arkas while the others kept station on humming wings.
‘My lord,’ he began, dropping to a knee to deliver the report. ‘Knight Hastor dispatched us. A foe lies between us and the ruin we seek. Five hundred strong, at least, garbed for war. We did not reveal ourselves and Hastor awaits your command.’
‘Where?’
‘A still lake, frozen in a bowl-shaped valley. Even the rivers and falls are ice. We saw a town of tents and more solid structures arrayed the slopes.’
‘I know this place,’ Arkas said. ‘Icemere. You saw the enemy?’
‘Briefly, my lord,’ replied Venian. ‘Many were well armoured, not like the scum we chased down earlier. The encampment looked more settled also. There were several burnt-out pyres and totemic poles raised in the centre, and a charnel stench – sacrifices no doubt. We approached stealthily and heard the growl of hounds and caught glimpses of larger beasts.’
‘What were they doing? Where exactly is the camp?’
‘The route to the tower passes onto a sharp ridge, but we could see no further than that. It was the opinion of Knight Hastor that they were deliberately blocking the approach. It is far too high and inhospitable for them to have remained there for any other reason.’
‘They have good reason,’ said Arkas. ‘The Queen of the Peak is a powerful oracle and many seek her wisdom. They might hope to keep her visions to themselves or just ambush and murder those who would consult with the Queen.’
‘Do you have orders for Knight Hastor, my lord?’
‘They will find their next guests harder to handle, be sure of that.’ Arkas loosened his runeblade in its sheath. ‘Heed my command for Knight Hastor. We must secure the safety of the Queen of the Peak. I will lead an attack on the main camp. The Angelos Conclave has two missions once the attack is underway. Part of your force must hold the ridge to ensure none of the enemy can reach the Queen’s tower. You must personally locate the tower and ensure there are no foes in the surrounding area. Kill any that are, but do not enter under any circumstances. Allow nobody to pass into the tower until I arrive.’
‘What if the Queen of the Peak should emerge?’ asked Venian.
‘She cannot leave the tower,’ Arkas said. He knelt and used a finger to mark a symbol in the snow. ‘Mark this sigil and pass it on to Hastor. There is a gate-arch carved with duardin reliefs. He will know the presence of the Queen beyond it. He is to leave this, my rune, at the threshold, but is not to pass in.’ He closed his fist. ‘We will advance at haste. Make your move when Doridun signals the attack.’
