Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Skullbrand said nothing. Grunts and snorts were the most he normally uttered, unless the maelstrom of battle came on him, in which case his throat opened up into such roars that even his own troops shrank back from him.

Khul released Grizzlemaw. The warlord looked up at the skies, and the strengthening rain ran in rivulets down his chin. ‘This storm smells strange,’ he mused. ‘I have been too long in the south. Was it ever thus up here?’

Skullbrand shrugged. ‘You let them go.’

Khul sighed. ‘They have the Eyes, and they have the fear of me. They will lead us to whatever prey lingers here.’

The vanguard of his army was approaching now. At its head was Vekh the Flayer, the stoker of his horde’s wrath. The bare-headed master of pain, his skin stitched and scarred, strode up to him and saluted dryly. Behind him, the army’s march came to a halt, and the troops shouted their salute to Khul, crashing axes against shields. He dismissed them with a shake of his gauntlet and they broke out from marching order, falling to the ground in tribal huddles and taking strands of raw man-meat from their packs to chew on.

‘I thought you had found some rats?’ Vekh asked, looking around him for evidence of a kill.

‘I let them go,’ said Khul again.

Vekh sniffed, disappointed. The bloodstoker enjoyed taking the survivors after battles. Those placed into his care lived the longest of all the captives the Goretide abducted — not that it was something they necessarily welcomed.

‘You should know this,’ Vekh said, slyly, drawing closer. ‘Your army is impatient. It needs kills.’

Khul growled softly — a warning snarl, feline, infinitely threatening. Kills was all they ever demanded. ‘When this is over,’ he said, patiently, ‘I will take them back south, and they will have all the murder they desire.’

‘But not until you take your skull.’ Vekh smiled. ‘Just one more skull. So difficult. Can it really be worth so very much? I can give you skulls — as many as you like.’

‘Your own, then.’

Vekh laughed. ‘One day, maybe. Or maybe not.’

Skullbrand hissed at the Flayer, and ran his gauntlet down the shaft of his standard.

‘Threx is angry,’ Khul explained.

‘Of course he is,’ said Vekh. ‘You let them go.’

Khul stiffened, ignoring the bloodstoker. The Eyes he had planted in the bloodreavers had seen things, and he now saw them as if they were his own. The pack had found a plain of cracked earth, old ruins and an empty gate that led nowhere. They were hunting still, heading towards a rise crowned with three old towers, smelling mortal fear.

That was interesting. The gate was interesting. He had seen such things for himself, long ago when the world was not yet slumped into defeat, and there were legends dancing around those old places like witch-light. He still remembered the dreams, the ones that had come on the cusp of storms, the ones that never had an ending but promised so much.

He had known there would be a gate in the empty wastes, and he had known there would be bloodreavers racing towards it under the glowering weight of thunderheads. He had seen silver lightning race across the northern arc of the horizon and had followed it, sensing the otherworldliness of it even as his followers could smell nothing but the roasting meat of his victims.

‘Get them on their feet,’ he ordered, turning on his heel and marching up towards the cleft in the valley’s throat. ‘We march again.’

Skullbrand growled appreciatively and Vekh gave a sardonic bow.

‘That is more like it,’ he said. ‘I can hear the screams already.’

Chapter Four

Rakh barely noticed the gate. His face was bleeding from where the Eyes had been stitched in, and the pain made him crazed. All in his pack were the same — damaged and howling. They sprinted harder than they had ever done before, driven now by a terrible need. They had to find, to seek out whatever scuttling things still squatted in the crevices and drag them into the light. It was no longer about meat-orgies, but about the Goretide and service to the lord with the twin-bladed axe.

The lightning whipped down, over and over, lighting up the ruins with cold flashes. He saw the stonework sway and glimmer, and every burst made his bloody eyes flare with fresh pain. They had run past the gate, sweeping through its mighty foundations, sniffing and panting, following the scents of despair.

Ahead of them were the three towers, each one drenched and lit up by lightning strikes. The mortals were there — scrawny prey-things. Khul would want to see them dragged out, made to squeal. Then they would be running again, searching, their nostrils flared, seeking something worthy of the Goretide’s axes.