Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Grymn met his gaze and nodded tersely. Tegrus stepped back. Grymn looked at Gardus. ‘You spoke of the Hidden Vale, Lord-Celestant…’ he urged.

Tegrus blinked. The Hidden Vale… no wonder Grymn was short-tempered. Other Stormcasts had been dispatched to bring Sigmar’s offer of alliance to Alarielle, the Radiant Queen and Mistress of Ghyran, but they had all failed to discover her hiding place. Some had hoped that the appearance of the sylvaneth warglades in the final moments of the battle for the Gates of Dawn had signalled some awareness on her part, but others, like Tegrus, had suspected that the treekin had acted on their own initiative. He glanced around, seeking out the mysterious creatures that had escorted Gardus back to them, and was not surprised to find them already gone. The sylvaneth went where they willed, and no man or beast could stop them.

If Gardus had somehow found a way to the Hidden Vale, they could bring Sigmar’s words to Alarielle. They might even be able to encourage her to rouse herself to fight alongside the Stormcasts in defence of the Jade Kingdoms.

Tegrus turned his attentions back to the words of his Lord-Celestant. Gardus’ face had a haunted look, and he was silent for several moments, as if trying to marshal his thoughts. Then, slowly, he began to speak.

‘We must first find the Oak of Ages Past,’ Gardus said, speaking carefully, as might one who was trying to convey something he only barely understood. ‘Celestial driftwood, cast through the void of time, which came to rest in the misty swamps of this realm. A stream of immaculate water, cleaner than any in the Mortal Realms, gushes forth from its ancient trunk. It is a river, bestowing life-giving energy to every part of this realm.’ His voice faded, and he stood silent, as if lost in thought.

‘Gardus,’ Grymn said, harshly. Tegrus glared at the Lord-Castellant and put his hand on Gardus’ shoulder. There was no telling what horrors the Steel Soul had experienced in his sojourn through Nurgle’s garden. Gardus looked at the Prosecutor-Prime and nodded his thanks. He cleared his throat and continued his tale.

‘While I was… elsewhere, I learned that this river — the River Vitalis — has become corrupted. Waters that once carried life now carry only the seeds of death.’

‘A plague?’ Grymn asked. They had seen similar pestilences far too often since arriving in the Realm of Life. Nurgle’s influence had corrupted the very air itself.

‘A daemon,’ Gardus said. ‘A Great Unclean One, like the beast I… fought at the Gates of Dawn.’ He shook his head. ‘The servants of Nurgle call it Pupa Grotesse, but that is not its true name.’ He spoke with an iron certainty. ‘I know its name. And we must break its hold over the watercourse, if we are to have any hope of finding the Hidden Vale and its mistress.’

He lifted his head. ‘We must fight our way to the mouth of the River Vitalis, and destroy the daemon that festers at its heart.’ He looked around, catching the eyes of every man present.

Tegrus raised his hammer. ‘If you so command, Steel Soul, then that is what we shall do.’ Grymn had led them well, and he was the reason they had survived to reach this point, but Gardus was their true leader.

Grymn grunted and shook his head. ‘Lead on, then, Steel Soul. Lead on.’

Chapter Seven Ambush on the fen road

‘Oh, my boils and scabs,’ Morbidex Twiceborn said as he cut a coiling forest spite out of the air with his scythe. ‘Look at them all, marching in lockstep, so pretty in their shiny armour. What do you think, Tripletongue? Think they’d taste of starlight, my pet?’ he asked the burly pox-maggoth he rode. Tripletongue roared and stamped in reply.

The arrayed ranks of Stormcast Eternals — or so they were said to call themselves — marched towards Morbidex’s forces through the field of high cairnstones, driving forward in a stoic rhythm. The nurglings that made up his army, for their part, either hadn’t noticed the newcomers or else didn’t care. They were too busy fighting the horde of forest spites.

And it was such a wonderful ambush as well. Took me weeks to get the little fellows to understand what that word meant, Morbidex thought as he snatched a glittering spite out of the air and stuffed it in his mouth. But the spites had ruined it when they’d provoked the nurglings from concealment and put paid to all of Morbidex’s hard effort and planning.

Brightly hued and peculiar, the diminutive arboreal spirits had forms ranging from horned serpents to enormous dragonflies that glowed with an inner light, and they fought savagely against the fat-bellied nurglings. They slashed, clawed and bit at one another in the mire along the wide sprawl of moss-covered cairnstones that served as Rotwater Blight’s only true road, making a loud mess of things.