Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘I can… I can hear it, Lord-Castellant,’ the Liberator said. ‘It’s… burrowing into my mind… my soul.’ He reached up as if to tear his helmet off, and fumbled with his weapon and shield, nearly dropping them. ‘It’s echoing in my head!’

Grymn seized the warrior’s hands.

‘Stop,’ he snarled, shouting to be heard over the shriek of the Dirgehorn. ‘You are Stormcast. Remember what that means, brother.’

‘I have him, Lord-Castellant,’ a voice said.

Grymn looked up and saw the heavy shape of the Lord-Celestant of the Astral Templars. Zephacleas had been a big man, even before his Reforging, and he loomed over Grymn now, his amethyst armour scorched in places and scored with the marks of claws and fangs. Now he caught the Liberator by the shoulders.

‘Arcos, isn’t it? You stood with me at the Lake of Screaming Reeds, when that toad dragon hurled itself at the shieldwall of our brothers. I nearly broke my blade on its blubbery hide and you were there, shielding me from its vile spew. And at the Grove of Blighted Lanterns, did you not raise your hammer in defence of your brothers, as the jabberslythes screamed? Stand tall, Arcos. We are the Beast-Bane, slayers of the Black Bull of Nordrath, and we shall not allow a mere winding tune to break us.’

The warrior nodded wearily and allowed his Lord-Celestant to urge him back towards his brethren. Zephacleas watched him go, and then turned to Grymn.

‘Death is a high price, but not without its allure,’ the Lord-Celestant said, watching the lake.

‘Is your resolve so fragile, Beast-Bane?’ Grymn asked harshly.

‘No, but this hellish landscape has worn us down, Grymn. For some among our warriors, to return in failure is beginning to seem preferable to slogging through this foulness for even a single hour more,’ Zephacleas growled. ‘Even the air attacks us.’ He clutched at his head for a moment. ‘And that blasted wail never ends! It gnaws at us every moment, digging into us. I can’t even hear myself think.’

‘We must press on. We are close,’ Grymn said. ‘The horn grows louder, and we are assailed more frequently. We are close, Zephacleas. And only the faithful shall prevail.’ He thumped the other Stormcast on the shoulder. ‘Much is demanded…’

‘…of those to whom much has been given,’ Zephacleas finished. ‘Gardus says — said — that often.’ He shook his head. ‘I wish that he were here.’

‘As do I,’ Grymn said. ‘But we must—’ A cry from above interrupted him. He looked up, saw the Prosecutors circling a high, sloping hill that overlooked the lake and said, ‘Tegrus has found something.’

‘The enemy?’ Zephacleas asked.

‘Better, I think,’ Grymn said. ‘Come, we must alert the others.’

Chapter Two The land itself

In the light cast by his lantern, Grymn looked out over the cluster of bubbling springs surrounded by lush green vegetation and took a deep breath.

‘The air is cleaner here,’ he said. The Prosecutors had led them up the hill and to the crest, where amidst the crags they had discovered this quiet oasis. Grymn, determined to investigate before he risked his warriors, had led his vanguard in.

‘It could be a trick,’ Zephacleas said.

‘It is a trick,’ Ultrades of the Broken Spear said. Like Grymn, the Lord-Celestant of the Guardians of the Firmament was stoicism given form — a warrior of iron will and determination, who had earned his name by killing an enemy warlord with a broken spear blade torn from the Stormcast’s own bloody side. ‘Another ploy of the enemy. They could not bring us down by force, and so they seek to gull us with a safe haven in a landscape of horrors.’ He shook his head. ‘We should press on.’

‘Our warriors require rest,’ Grymn said, glancing back at the vanguard of Decimators and Retributors who had followed them to the hill’s summit. The bulk of the Stormhost still waited on the slopes below, grateful for the pause. All save Tegrus and his retinue of Prosecutors, who had flown on to see what could be seen of the trail ahead.

While Stormcasts had incredible endurance, Zephacleas had been right — they were all worn down. The Rotwater Blight had sapped even the hardiest of them of their strength. Grymn had been able to keep the worst of it from his Warrior Chamber thanks to the light of his lantern, but even they skirted the edges of exhaustion. The other Warrior Chambers had lost brothers to the mire and sucking loam, as well as the myriad dangers that lurked on the fringes of their path.

‘We need rest,’ he said again. ‘And this place could provide it,’ he added. He lifted his hand. ‘Listen…’

‘I hear nothing,’ Ultrades said.

‘Exactly,’ Grymn said. ‘The drone of the Dirgehorn has receded. Listen!’

‘He’s right,’ Zephacleas said, as he looked around. ‘I can barely hear it.’ He laughed. ‘I almost forgot what my own voice sounded like.’

‘And more, there’s fresh water — no flies, no steaming clumps of filth or poison,’ Grymn said, as he started towards the closest spring. Ultrades caught his arm.

‘What are you doing?’