Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘I am Ulgathern-Grimnir. You will show us the way?’ asked Ulgathern-Grimnir as haughtily as he could manage. He watched the grimwrath berzerker warily — the mad Fyreslayer had enough ur-gold runes punched into his skin that he could probably slaughter his way through the lot of them. He glittered with power. Ulgavost shifted the weight of his twin axes on his shoulders, readying them.

Brokkengird scowled. ‘Uppity young lord has Brokkengird’s ur-gold?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Ulgathern-Grimnir. He weighed a heavy pouch in his hand. ‘Twenty-seven runes, as you asked.’

Brokkengird took a step forward. Ulgathern-Grimnir snatched the pouch back, and stowed it in his pack. ‘You get us to the realmgate first.’

‘Yes, little lordling,’ said Brokkengird with a smirk and a bow.

Ulgathern-Grimnir’s temper flared at his insolence. ‘Where,’ he asked Drokki, ‘do you find these people?’

‘Shhh!’ said Brokkengird, holding up a finger to his lips. ‘Quiet now. Enemy moving. They march on Ulgahold. Brokkengird has seen it! You are wise, crippled runemaster.’

‘The prophecy!’ said Drokki.

‘Right,’ said Ulgavost.

Ulgathern-Grimnir squinted at him in irritation. The door to Gaenagrik was open, and Brokkengird beckoned for them to follow.

‘I only hope you’re right, and this is no false gold hunt,’ muttered Ulgavost.

‘You know the way?’ called Ulgathern-Grimnir softly after Brokkengird.

‘Brokkengird know the way. Brokkengird want ur-gold. No gold for Brokkengird if not, eh? Not far now. Upper halls soon. Realmgate by the Thronecavern of the old fathers. This way! Quickly!’

Brokkengird hurried ahead and the column followed.

‘Madder than a grot trapped in a bottle with fireants, that one,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir. He looked back down the column of duardin at the worried faces lit by dimmed runelamps. He couldn’t see Amsaralka, and his heart beat faster. He had to stop himself from hurrying back to find her. Three hundred souls, all his to protect, that was the reality of being a runefather. They looked tired, but they could not afford to rest. They pushed on deep into the abandoned hold. It was much bigger than the Ulgahold, and would take many hours to cross.

Suddenly, Drokki frowned. ‘Do you hear that?’

‘What?’ said Ulgavost.

‘Shh!’

Ulgathern-Grimnir held up his hand. With a lurch, the column came to a halt. True silence descended.

‘There!’ said Drokki. ‘Warhorns.’

They blew in the dark, back the way the duardin had come. A fearful chattering came after, the sound of wild laughter and wicked songs. It faded from hearing a moment, but Ulgathern-Grimnir knew it would only get louder.

‘Curse it all!’ he snarled. ‘They’ve found us.’

At the sound of the horns, Brokkengird increased the pace. The column found strength from their fear and began to jog. It was a slow but dogged pace that the thick legs of the duardin could sustain for days, if need be. The tunnels rumbled to the thumping of their feet and the jangle of gold and weapons.

But the servants of excess were lithe-limbed and quick. They were gaining, their horns soon becoming louder, their songs chasing after the fugitives.

‘Grimnir burn it! It’s not going to be fast enough,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir. ‘We need a place to fight them off. Brokkengird!’ he shouted.

The grimwrath berzerker fell back to run beside the runefather.

‘This very bad,’ he said in his broken Grimnizh. ‘Brokkengird tell to stripling runemaster enemy move soon. They move now. You should have come earlier.’

‘We need to hold them back, to give Drokki time to open the realmgate. Where can we make a stand?’

Brokkengird grinned. ‘Brokkengird not here for battle, Brokkengird paid to guide.’

‘I’ll give you more ur-gold, Grimnir roast you!’

‘Then this way, O lord of running duardin.’

Brokkengird took a sharp left, leading them onto a broad run of stairs that went up and up. The tunnel they occupied was high and finely made, although the vaulting of the ceiling was dangerously cracked, each piece held up only by the immense pressure exerted on it by the others.

Ulgathern-Grimnir’s lodge was sprinting now, the few beardless children with them wailing in terror. The older ones tried to be brave, but the fire in their eyes flickered uncertainly.

There were nine hundred steps. Ulgathern-Grimnir counted them, his axe bouncing hard on his back. His lungs burned and the column straggled out. He kept his eyes on his feet, not wanting to look up and see the task that lay ahead.

The last step flew away under his feet and he burst into a vast hall built into the side of Gaenagrik Mountain. Ruddy light shone through tall slot windows, and the high mullions separating the apertures from one another were thick and angled, reinforced against earthquake and covered with protective runes.