Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘Runefather,’ Frethnir said, ‘you were right.’ Relief flooded his face. The shadow that had followed him from Sibilatus lifted.

Beregthor did not answer. Vrindum watched him carefully. The runefather did not appear to notice he was accompanied. His eyes were fixed on the gate, unblinking. He had said nothing since their arrival, falling silent along with the wind.

Trumnir and Runesmiter Harthum examined the pillars. Trumnir frowned. ‘We will have to proceed with caution,’ he said. ‘This gate is warded. I do not recognize all the runes of protection.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Harthum. ‘They were not all part of the original construction. If any are triggered, they might destroy the gate. Or worse.’

‘A fine end to this quest that would be,’ Bramnor said. ‘To have come this far for nothing.’ He spoke in jest, his impatience jovial now.

Frethnir was not pleased. ‘This is our father’s moment of truth,’ he said.

Bramnor nodded. ‘You’re right.’ To Beregthor he said, ‘Runefather, I honour you, and mean no disrespect.’

Beregthor still did not respond. He stood before the centre of the gate, motionless except for his head as he looked back and forth along the span of the arch.

Vrindum moved up beside him. Beregthor’s profile seemed eroded. His skin was grey, worn. It was as if his skull were retreating beneath his hair and beard.

Something was wrong.

‘Runefather?’ Vrindum asked.

No response. The eyes dark like coal.

Trumnir said, ‘I shall begin.’

‘No.’ Beregthor did not raise his voice. He did not need to. His command was so cold.

Trumnir stopped in his tracks as if Beregthor had slapped him. His face darkened with anger. Then he looked concerned.

‘Runefather,’ Vrindum tried again.

Beregthor took a step forward. ‘Leave the gate to me,’ he said. ‘All of you.’ He turned his head to take in the assembly on the dais. ‘I know what needs to be done.’

Trumnir and the runesmiter backed away. They, Vrindum and the runesons retreated to the foot of the dais.

‘He is not himself,’ Frethnir said.

‘Is he unwell?’ Vrindum wondered. ‘He is old, but I would not have thought this journey would exhaust him so.’

No, Vrindum thought. This is something more.

Beregthor raised the latchkey grandaxe. He began to chant. The words were strange to Vrindum.

He turned to Trumnir. ‘Do you know this ritual?’ he asked.

‘I do not.’ Trumnir did not look away from the gate. ‘But the runefather knows what he is doing. Look.’ He pointed to the pillars. Runes glowed, flared white, and then subsided to a dull, magmatic red. ‘He is disarming the wards.’

‘Perhaps his father passed down the knowledge of rituals older and more secret than have been granted to us,’ said Harthum. He sounded unconvinced.

Ancient power crackled between the pillars. Light and space bent, twisted upon one another, and began to spiral. Reality fractured into a thousand shards, then reassembled itself. The view through the gate took on a definite character, becoming more stable. What was revealed was the interior of a stone chamber.

Vrindum saw how this gate and the one in Sibilatus had been mirrors of each other. The Drunbhor’s gate, Beregthor had said, led from the magmahold to a location within reach of the other lodge. This one, a long journey from Sibilatus, led directly to the magmahold of the other lodge.

There was movement in the ranks as the Fyreslayers prepared to march through the gate. Trumnir raised his staff in warning.

‘Hold!’ he called. ‘Many of the wards are still active. We cannot cross yet.’

Beregthor finished chanting. He made a complex pass with the Keeper of Roads before the gate. The gestures hurt Vrindum’s head to watch. He stared at the runefather, and he did not recognise the Fyreslayer before him.

Beregthor completed the gestures. In the centre of the gate, floating in the air, a large stone keyhole appeared. Beregthor lowered the Keeper and approached it. He made to insert the head of the weapon into the keyhole.

The latchkey grandaxe was a symbol. The design of its blade represented the keys to glory. But it was also a true key. It opened the most secret vaults in the magmahold. And now it would open the final lock on the gate.

The wards that were still active glowed red. It was a cold colour. Reptilian. Anticipatory. Trumnir was looking at them with alarm. ‘I don’t think…’ he began.

Vrindum jumped onto the dais. He ran forward and grasped Beregthor’s shoulder, holding him back before he could place the key in the lock.

‘Runefather,’ he said, ‘the gate is still dangerous. Should we not wait?’

Beregthor ignored him. He strained forward.

Vrindum used both arms to restrain him. ‘Beregthor-Grimnir,’ he said, ‘will you not speak to us? Do you know where you are?’

Beregthor turned his head to face Vrindum. His eyes had sunken further yet. His skin was turning greyer with every passing moment.

On the back of his neck, something wriggled.