Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘Well, at least they weren’t lying about the ale,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir cheerfully. ‘The day is looking up.’

Ulgavost shook his head and spat on the ground. ‘A pot of ale and a hero’s death. That’s poor hospitality, and a poorer way to increase the weight of one’s purse.’

The mountains around the Voltdrang were home to numerous holds. The Ulgaen’s passage along the highways linking them brought a variety of reactions. Some among the Volturung lodges were sympathetic to their plight, while others were openly hostile, telling them their domain was full and that the Ulgaen should seek some other place to settle.

Ulgathern-Grimnir honoured those expressions of fellowship with small gifts of gold, and stoically bore the opprobrium of the rest.

As they proceeded, the mountains reduced in magnificence. The smattering of volcanoes became none at all. The Fyreslayers’ affinity to the earth’s heat told the Ulgaen that the earthblood retreated far underground there, almost out of notice. The last holds they passed were little more than outposts, modest in size and means. Nubby hills covered in sandy terraced fields replaced the soaring ridges and peaks. Farmers watched them from under their wide-brimmed hats, or ignored them as they drove their plough-goats to score the earth.

Two giant watchtowers closing the mouth of a shallow valley marked the end of the Volturung kin-lodges’ territory. Ulgaen-Grimnir and his brothers stopped to confer with the karl of the watch there, and were directed onwards.

‘Be careful,’ said the karl, a gruff but kindly duardin. ‘Out there, the ratkin are thick. You might not see them, but they will see you.’

The road continued out into wild country. The valleys fractured into a wilderness of gullies. In response, the road climbed up to run along the ridges where the ground was easier. Behind them were the Firespikes, and ahead the hills became rounder and smaller, dropping down to reveal the Broken Plains once more. The desert conditions had softened, and the rocks jutted out now not from sand but from a heavy scrub of thorny trees.

One last mountain remained, looking over the plain: a small, sleeping volcano, as thin as a spear point. The outline of it was broken up by rickety-looking gantries and platforms, delicate against the far horizon. The smoke of industry rose from its flanks.

‘Brokkengird smell rat-things,’ said the grimwrath berzerker testily.

‘There’s nothing here, you maniac,’ said Ulgavost. ‘You can’t possibly smell them at this distance.’

‘Hey now, brother, best be careful, eh,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir.

Brokkengird sniffed at the air and scrambled off.

‘Now look what you’ve done. Come back!’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir. Brokkengird paid him no heed and vanished around a boulder.

‘Bah, he’ll be back. If not, good riddance. Looks like they’ve been busy over there,’ said Ulgavost. ‘How many do you reckon there are?’

‘Thousands,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir.

‘Tens of thousands,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir.

Grakki-grakkov growled.

‘There’d be no shame in giving up, going somewhere else. It’d be better to swallow our pride than stir that lot into action,’ said Ulgavost.

‘Tulgamar?’ asked Ulgathern.

‘I’ll do whatever you think best,’ said Tulgamar-Grimnir. ‘But Ulgavost does have a point.’

‘N-no,’ said Drokki. ‘We have to stay here. What else can we do? Wander the world homeless? We can take it.’

‘There are worse things than being a wandering lodge,’ said Ulgavost. ‘Assaulting the gates of that place being one of them.’

‘Who said anything about a full frontal assault?’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir. ‘Are we not duardin?’ He winked at Drokki. ‘We go under it.’

‘Lordling full of good ideas!’ said Brokkengird, returning to the road. He threw a headless skaven corpse down at Ulgathern-Grimnir’s feet. ‘There’ll be less of these to fight head on if we go underground. Clever little lordling.’

‘Shhh!’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir.

At his command, the Mining Fellowship ceased work, muffled picks stilled at mid-stroke.

‘Douse the lamps!’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir.

The two runelamps in the tunnel went out. Sparks of fire glinted in the eyes of the duardin. They stayed stock-still for several minutes.

A quietly tapped code gave the all clear.

‘Alright,’ Ulgathern-Grimnir whispered. ‘Continue.’

The Ulgaen Mining Fellowship set to work again, timing their blows to the pulsing of machinery that resonated through the rock.

For three hours they toiled, the Ulgaen warriors keeping watch. Some of them thought they should use the runesmiters’ magic to melt their way through the rock, though none dared say it. But Ulgathern-Grimnir needed the zharrgrim to save their strength for the task ahead, and he did not want to give the skaven advance warning of their approach. Magma tunnelling was anything but quiet.

‘All change!’ said Amsaralka. The Mining Fellowship stepped back from the rockface, rotating their arms and stretching their muscles out. A fresh band came forward and took up their tools.

‘Let me help,’ said Ulgathern-Grimnir.