War storm, p.11
War Storm, page 11
He suspected ill motives on the part of his master. He would have known.
Tzeentch not knowing was impossible. Impossible!
Well, he would not be outmanoeuvred, no! Ephryx gritted pointed teeth and muttered guttural words of power. He passed his hand before his face. A nimbus of magic played around his horns, and he was gone from the room.
Ephryx rematerialised in the summit of his tall tower. He came fully clothed, cleansed and scented. His limbs were clad in robes of deep blue worked with arcane sigils of gold. His horns were painted in lacquer that shifted hue with his every movement. In his left hand he carried an onyx staff topped with an icon of brass. His right unconsciously twitched out magic. And so Ephryx came to his scrying chamber, a vast, lopsided room set into the eye of Tzeentch that crowned his fortress. There was but one window, the pupil of the eye set with amethyst that afforded views towards every point of the compass and wherever Ephryx willed. From that height his beautiful castle appeared small, laid out like a model artfully made in many metals. Ephryx could see every one of the eight points of the castle’s walls and the gate there. Little more than building blocks joined by thick lines from his vantage, made of steel and copper, gold and brass. They throbbed with sorcerous energy. Fields invisible to the mortal eye rolled and twisted in multiple colours around the fort, sent into fractal eddies by the thing hidden at the base of the tower, the great artefact he had constructed his domain around.
Ephryx watched the gentler play of the ether over the still, dark valley. There the Silver River glowed softly orange with inner heat in the last dark of the night. Along its dim shores, the shadows danced with the light of Argentine’s fire. The metal magic rising from the river twisted as it encountered an opposing force a hundred feet above the molten stream. Something perturbed the currents of energy; he had to hurry.
A platinum pedestal occupied the centre of the room, baroquely cast. Imps and cockatrices wrestled all over it, their writhings perpetually arrested, their moist eyes tracking the sorcerer around the room. Upon the pedestal was a bowl filled with liquid gold, and it was to this that Ephryx went.
The skies were light with the coming sun, but dawn had not yet broken. He looked towards the end of the vale and into the void to the east. Already the first rays shone from beneath the floating land. The great crucible high in the eastern sky was bathed in its light already, and shone like a second sun. The Argent Falls gleamed bright. The scales of Argentine sparked with orange notes, and the light of his fires were robbed of their brilliance.
Tainted light glanced off the thousands of copper skulls that covered the fortress and lit the grim, bladed facets of the eight great towers and gates. Shadows fell long upon the fortress, shortening as the sick star rose swiftly over the walls. Copper and adamant sparkled. Warmth chased off night’s chill. Then the sun shone through the lone window set in the lowermost portion of the tower. By crystals grown from madness, the light was redirected again into the keep entombed within the tower, then to a cairn hidden within the keep. Through one small gap left in a wall of lead blocks, a single ray of light was allowed to pierce and fall upon the artefact.
The effect was instant and potent.
The tower shuddered. A boiling sphere of magic burst from the stolen prize. The copper skulls drank deeply of the power, their hollow sockets glowing eerily. Ephryx waited in his tower for the bubble to pass through his scrying chamber. The magic arrived from below, passing first over his toes, then up his legs and into his trunk, invigorating his Chaos-twisted flesh and setting his blood racing. The gold in his scrying bowl bubbled, and Ephryx bent eagerly over it. The images presented at the moment of dawn were the clearest, the most truthful.
He was not the only one waiting for the rising sun. In answer to its appearance, light flashed in the sky. Dozens of lightning strikes, thicker than the others, came not from the clouds but through them, stabbing downward from a place that was not of this realm. They emanated from somewhere beyond the Celestial Swirl, that galaxy of lights and stars that turned high in the northern sky. The lightning was white, but Ephryx’s witch-sight showed him pulses of azure that accompanied each strike and sent the currents of Chamon into disarray.
The first bolt split the peak of a mountain to the north-east. Many more pounded into the valley at various points to the north of the Silver River. The first left behind an imposing figure in smooth armour surrounded by a small bodyguard of warriors upon the mountain peak. These surveyed the lands revealed to them, then spread broad wings of blazing energy and took to the heavens. The sky blackened above them, and they flew up into a downfall of rain. The other bolts struck domes of force from the ground, all around the dormant Bright Tor Gate.
As in Ephryx’s dream, the domes faded to nothing, revealing small armies, although these warriors wore armour of deep turquoise, not the gold of the warriors he had perceived in Aqshy. Then the image in the bowl wavered, and Ephryx drew back from the gold, the play of it illuminating the surprise on his face. His expression hardened. With pinched fingers he clicked out a brief rhythm with his nails upon the platinum of the bowl’s stand. He called upon the power of Tzeentch, steadying the image. None could best the arcane power of Ephryx. He willed the minds of these interlopers to open to him; their secrets would be his, their plans laid bare.
He permitted himself a small smile.
The minds of the strangers remained closed. Their images wavered harder.
The sorcerer’s smile evaporated quicker than a soul in a spirit forge. Ephryx looked out of the windows with a scowl. The dawn was passing over the fortress and the ruined city it squatted in. Its light now struck off the Vaulten Mountains, dancing from peak to peak of the Bright Tors, lighting the underside of the storm clouds beneath both. Then it slid down rocky bluffs and steep banks into the great valley of Anvrok to light the Silver River, overpowering the dull glow given off by the hot silver.
‘No, no! Show me their thoughts, their purpose!’ Ephryx made swift gestures over the liquid gold. The surface rippled, breaking the pictures into circular nonsenses. The bowl lost its focus, skipping from one party of the turquoise storm warriors to the next. ‘No, no, no, no! Show me, show me! I demand it! By the thousand thousand names of Tzeentch, be revealed!’
The sun ceased shining into the vault of the fortress. Day broke fully across the Hanging Valleys of Anvrok. The sphere of magic collapsed. The skulls that studded the walls of the fortress sighed, and the light in their eyes died.
‘No!’ Ephryx set his will upon the bowl. Every corner of the land, every nook and crevice, every tumbled cottage and fearful tribe scratching an existence from the rock – all was his to see when he chose. But when he turned his eye upon the storm warriors, he saw nothing.
Ephryx hissed like a cat and slapped his hand upon the pedestal. The gold stirred fitfully. He glared at it until his eyes watered.
A draught of spiced air stirred the wizard’s robes. A chuckle emanating from two throats broke the quiet of his sanctum.
His master had arrived.
Ephryx screwed his eyes shut. He muttered a prayer to Tzeentch and smoothed out his features. Composed, he turned to face the source of his power and of his pain.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Great Oracle
A tall being stood to the westward side of the chamber, spindle-limbed but corded with wiry muscle. A daemon of Chaos, a Lord of Change. It grasped a tall staff in both hands, upon which was bound a grimoire that murmured with a voice of its own. The staff’s finial was a metal fish of fearsome aspect. Of all the things about his mentor that he loathed, Ephryx hated this fish the most. It grimaced and pulled faces when it thought Ephryx could not see. It was, Ephryx felt, the summation of his master’s disdain for him.
The Lord of Change had broad wings. Feathers that were blue only some of the time rippled with arcane energies upon the being’s wings and thighs; otherwise, it was bald and dry-skinned. All these things were remarkable, although not so remarkable as the fact of its two avian heads.
The daemon leaned upon its staff and craned both heads forward on long wrinkled necks, the headdresses of each swaying with the movement. One face was creased with benign amusement, the other with disappointment.
The daemon was a being of one mind: one head saw only the past, the other the future. Ephryx noted with alarm that it was the future-seeing face that scowled.
‘The Ninth Disciple of the Ninth Tower. Have you proven unworthy at last?’ said the amused head.
‘Eight others in this place and time we have consumed. Eight towers we have toppled. Perhaps we should dine again?’ said the other to the first.
Ephryx bowed so low the tips of his horns tapped the mosaic floor. ‘Kairos Fateweaver, oracle of everything, mightiest of all the Lords of Change, I greet you.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the amused head.
‘Feeble wizard bows and scrapes, but there is little loyalty beneath his horns,’ said the other.
‘I have discovered something of great portent–’ began Ephryx, but Kairos would not let him finish.
‘Why do you, sorcerer…’ said the amused head.
‘…believe that what can be hidden from most masterful Tzeentch should be revealed to you?’ finished the annoyed one.
Kairos gestured at the molten gold, causing it to bubble and spit. He stepped forward, his staff tapping on the maddening patterns of the floor like the cane of a blind man. Tap-tap this way, tap-tap that way, probing for obstacles Ephryx could not perceive. Kairos stopped a few feet away from Ephryx, leaned upon his staff again and peered at him with two pairs of hard, button-black eyes. The eyes of a carrion bird, examining food not quite dead.
‘I have had no warning of this,’ said Ephryx. ‘As much as I cannot believe it, Tzeentch did not know of these lightning warriors.’
‘Ah, ah! The mortal is so cunning.’
‘So stupid,’ said the other head. ‘Has it not occurred to him that Tzeentch did not tell?’
The pages of Kairos’s book fluttered.
‘But he is right. Our lord is in a rage that his sight was turned elsewhere, the doings in the realm of Azyr hidden from his view.’
‘So Tzeentch was blinded.’ Ephryx frowned. ‘But you, O mighty Kairos, did you know?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Know what, small and insignificant weaver of spells?’ asked Kairos innocently. One head rose up and peered out of the window. The beak clacked. The attention of both heads returned to the wizard.
‘I do not think today is for the playing of games!’ implored Ephryx. ‘You are given the power to see that which Tzeentch might not. You are the guarantor of his perspicacity.’
‘Every day is a day for games,’ chided the first head. ‘When the game stops, time will end. There is only the game, nothing else.’
‘You knew, you did! After all I have done! You knew that this would happen. I am so close to achieving the translocation.’
Ephryx began to pace. Kairos’s heads swung heavily to follow him.
‘I foresaw,’ said one head. ‘I have seen into the Well of Eternity into which even Tzeentch might not glance.’
‘I did not foresee,’ said the other.
‘It is not for me to tell,’ said the first head.
‘It is not for me to know,’ said the second.
‘I can no more easily keep my mind closed to Tzeentch than you can keep your mind closed to me,’ said the first head. ‘What makes you think I knew?’
‘He knows only what I will tell him, and I did not tell him this,’ said the second.
‘You obfuscate!’ wheedled Ephryx. ‘Tell me, O master. If you are aware, it will affect our plans. My skulls are close to fully charged. I am so close to removing Chamon to the Realm of Chaos. Do you wish me to fail?’
‘Yes,’ said the second head.
‘No,’ said the first.
‘If you will not treat with me honestly, how can I serve you?’ asked Ephryx. Kairos brought out the moaning child in him. For that he would never forgive the Lord of Change.
‘It would have honesty!’ said the first head.
‘Truth from the lord of lies,’ said the second.
Both heads clicked their beaks in laughter.
Ephryx emitted an exasperated noise and turned back to his golden mirror.
‘Why be so irritable, wielder of small magics?’ asked Kairos amicably.
‘Great power, no power, useless, a master,’ muttered the other head.
‘You know better than to expect a straight answer from me. From anything. There are no simple answers, and no simple questions that could be framed to find them, even if they were to exist. Which they do not.’
‘But exist they do!’ croaked the other head. ‘Easy answers, easy questions. You behave as you did when first you came under my tutelage. Disappointing!’
‘Extremely so,’ said the first head sorrowfully.
‘I must know the intent of these warriors.’ Ephryx went back to the gold and stared into it. He saw nothing but the gleaming yellow of the metal. ‘If they come here for the artefact, or only for conquest.’
Kairos shrugged.
‘The secret is done. Why can I not see them now?’
‘None can, little wizard,’ said the first head.
‘None but he who sent them. Great magics shroud them still.’
‘And we do not wish to draw his attention here, not yet, so do not break the shroud. If you can break it,’ said the second head.
A thousand plans flickered through Ephryx’s mind, as swift and short-lived as mice. He could not scheme against the unknown.
‘I must know their purpose.’
Kairos stepped forward. He was so huge that two steps carried him across the chamber, his wings scraping the stonework of the ceiling. The daemon prodded Ephryx with a talon that was long and slate-grey, and as hard as slate too; it hurt Ephryx’s chest.
‘Think, little wizard! This is no great war party, but a scouting group. Foresight has made your mind lazy and dull. If you do not know, then extrapolate.’
‘Ruminate,’ said the second head.
‘Think!’
‘If you cannot, you are not fitting to serve our master,’ said the first head. ‘You are not fit to serve me!’
‘So the question is…’ said the second head.
‘…what have they come to scout?’ said the first.
‘That is not the question I had in mind,’ said the second head.
‘It will stand,’ said the first.
Ephryx looked at the floor. His mind penetrated the fabric of the tower. He looked all the way down, a thousand feet to the lead cairn where his prize was entombed. Within that, he did not look; the sight would blind him. ‘How could they know about the hammer? Tzeentch hid it and removed knowledge of it from all the realms.’
Kairos looked at his pupil expectantly, two pairs of beady eyes glittered with the light of dead stars. ‘Yes?’ he said encouragingly.
‘They don’t know, do they?’ asked Ephryx excitedly. ‘They don’t know at all!’ He pointed a finger at Kairos. ‘That’s why you’ve come, to make sure they don’t find out.’
‘Clever,’ said the first head.
‘Somewhat,’ said the second.
‘Then it begs the question, what are they here for?’
‘How long have you been master of this vale?’ asked Kairos.
‘A long time,’ said Ephryx.
‘And?’ prompted the other head.
‘I have never found the Silver Road, the great realmgate of the duardin. Is that what they seek? I had a vision, of a realmgate in Aqshy…’
‘War has erupted across many of the Mortal Realms. The Powers are in uproar. Everywhere the man-god strikes,’ said Kairos.
‘The Silverway leads everywhere. It would be of great use to them.’ Dismay clouded Ephryx’s features again. ‘They will search the valley. When they find it, they will come in great numbers and throw up fortresses of their own. Anvrok will become a marshalling yard for the wars of Azyr. They will surely be drawn to this fortress, and sooner rather than later. I cannot hide what I have. And I am so close. Why now?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Why am I to be tested so by the Great Changer when I am about to deliver him this prize?’
‘Ephryx delivers Tzeentch’s prize?’ asked the first head to the second. ‘Not correct.’
‘We. We both,’ said the second. Both nodded, then peered at the sorcerer.
‘Our prize,’ they said together. ‘Our plan. Our reward.’
‘This is news to us all, the work of a rival power. Sigmar of the world gone before.’ Kairos’s eyes closed, and his necks extended upward, heads shaking sinuously back and forth. ‘The godling believes he can oppose Chaos.’
‘Defy that which has already been victorious,’ said the first head.
‘His plans he hid, but his assaults he cannot. He will be challenged soon.’
‘I need more time!’ snarled Ephryx.
‘Ninety-nine more dawns are required to charge the fortress sufficiently to convey it through the Shardgate,’ warned Kairos. ‘Only then will the metal realm be ours to dispose of as we see fit.’
‘They cannot stop the Stormcast Eternals,’ added the second.
‘That is the name of Sigmar’s puppets?’ asked the first.
‘It is,’ said the second.
‘What if, what if…’ said Ephryx. He rubbed his chin and paced the floor. ‘What if it is not more time that I need, but more magic?’
‘A thought,’ said Kairos.
‘But is it a good one?’ asked his other head.
‘When the warriors of Sigmar were slain in Aqshy, they ascended on reversed lightning,’ said Ephryx. His mind was racing. ‘They are not men, these creatures. They are infused with magic.’
‘Good, good!’ said Kairos. ‘Little wizard thinks well. And what is your conclusion?’
