Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

The magic was dead, and there was a lot of damage to the hall — almost all of it, to Ulgathern-Grimnir’s keen eye, down to the shiftings of the earth. There were signs of defacement to the statues and shrines in the alcoves along two walls, but otherwise it seemed that the forces of Chaos had moved on quickly after their victory a century ago, focusing their attentions on the living Fyreslayers of the Ulmount.

A huge dais dominated one end of the hall, with seats for the hold’s highest lodge-lords. As the hold’s heart, most of these had been smashed by the Slaaneshi, their pieces added to the scattering of rubble about the floor.

‘Gate that way!’ said Brokkengird, pointing to a round arch leading into another hall. ‘This Fifthstair, only way in. All others blocked.’ He pointed back down the way they had come. ‘No other way to get here. Well, one other. Brokkengird go there now!’ With that, the berzerker set off at a run none among Ulgathern-Grimnir’s duardin could match.

‘Make lines!’ called Ulgathern-Grimnir. ‘Hearthguard to the fore. Grokkenkir!’ he called. ‘Take the women and youngflames and go with Drokki to the gate! Can you get it open?’

Drokki swallowed hard and nodded. ‘Yes, that is the easy part.’

‘Good.’ Ulgathern-Grimnir gripped his axe and looked down the stairs. ‘We’ll hold them here. Hurry!’

Drokki ran after Brokkengird through the huge round doorway into a second chamber. This was slightly smaller than the first. The run of windows continued along the mountainside there, and from this new position Drokki could see the peak of the Ulmount several miles away.

A road of cracked marble led down the length of the hall to another dais, this one crowned with a circular doorway that matched the first in form, but it was no ordinary portal.

‘The realmgate!’ gasped Drokki.

The wall of the hall was visible twenty yards behind it. Unlike the door into the hall, which was fashioned from black granite blocks, the realmgate was made of a dazzling white stone set with ur-gold runes that glowed with dormant magic.

‘Aye, aye,’ said Brokkengird. He had made the far side of the room, and stood beside an open stone door. ‘Best open it quick, or everyone die, and that make Brokkengird angry, because Brokkengird get no ur-gold. See you soon, cripple priest!’ he said, and dived through the doorway out of sight.

‘What are your orders?’ asked Grokkenkir. His vulkite berzerkers were restless behind him.

Drokki opened his mouth to answer.

‘What shall we do, runemaster?’ asked a maiden. This open show of fear set up a muttering among the duardin.

‘This was your idea!’ shouted an angry voice at the back. ‘We’re all going to die!’

The crowd surged forward around Drokki. All of a sudden they were shouting at him from every side.

‘Silence!’ bellowed a powerful female voice. ‘Shivering with fright will do us no good!’ Amsaralka pushed her way to the front of the knot. ‘I’d suggest you, Grokkenkir, get half your vulkite berzerkers down the end of the hall to stop the enemy coming in, and the other half by the gate to stop whatever might be on the other side killing us if it turns out not to be friendly. And stop glancing back through the door at the others. I know you’d rather be in the fight with your lord, but this is honourable duty, protecting the young and maidens and those others who don’t fight.’

‘Of, of course,’ stammered Grokkenkir, his cheeks colouring.

‘Go on then, get to it!’ barked Amsaralka.

Grokkenkir hastily bowed and began dividing his fighters. Amsaralka grinned at Drokki. He stared back. ‘What? I’m going to be a queen. Don’t see why I should sit at the back being quiet. Now you get about opening that door! I mean, runemaster.’

Drokki sketched a bow to her before trotting up to the realmgate dais. Brokkengird was nowhere to be seen. He’s probably waiting to rob our corpses of ur-gold once this has all died down, thought Drokki glumly.

He approached the gate. The runes inscribed onto the stones responded to his presence, calling out to him in voices only he could hear. Looking around guiltily, he unwound a bead book he had stolen from the Ulgahold from around his waist.

He began to read aloud, the beads clacking through his fingers.

Much to his relief, the first rune on the gate’s array ignited with a fiery orange light. Encouraged, he read faster.

‘Here they come!’ roared Ulgathern-Grimnir, setting his stance firmly at the top of the stair and readying his grandaxe. ‘None shall pass!’

A wall of pale-fleshed things came rushing up out of the gloom. Some were recognisable as human, others were so monstrous little trace of humanity remained.

They wore scanty clothing, most of it tight and made from soft leathers of terrible origin. The few iridescent plates of armour they bore were impractical, hooked directly into their skin. The servants of Slaanesh would endure any agony in pursuit of fresh sensation, and the range of horrible mutilations they had inflicted on themselves was dazzling in its variety.