‘You know what is at stake here,’ he said. ‘Let us retrieve our lost brother.’
With that, the Stormcasts set off at pace, following in the Prosecutors’ wake as they soared towards the mountain range.
It took Thostos and his men half the time Zannus had estimated to reach the foothills amongst which the tower lay. They had run near ceaselessly, even when they had reached twisting paths made treacherous by the crooked spikes of crystal that jutted out from nearby boulders, and in spite of the smooth, slippery ground beneath their feet. Every step had to be taken carefully, lest a warrior lost their footing and tumbled into a cluster of razor-sharp, pellucid quartz that could shear through armour with unsettling ease.
It was poor ground for stealth, littered with tiny fragments of crystal and shards of rough stone that crunched underfoot. The weight of the Stormcasts in their full battle array caused each footstep to echo like a falling boulder. Yet until now, at least as far as Thostos could tell, they remained unspotted as they made their way up the winding paths towards the great brass peaks in the distance.
After another hour or two of travel they hauled themselves over the lip of a great bluff of burnished brass, and caught their first glimpse of the spiral tower. It sank into the ground at a tight angle, leaning against the far edge of a towering peak like a resting spear. Though it shone with soft silver light, the surface was strangely organic in texture. It reminded Thostos of the great shell of some kind of ocean-dwelling crustacean. Spiral patterns wound into the surface, and great jewels of many different colours shone from within.
‘Down,’ whispered Atrin harshly, and the Stormcasts ducked low, hands grasping weapons firmly.
They were in a sort of sheltered bowl within the mountains, which rose steeply on all sides. The ground ahead of them was even for several hundred yards, and was patrolled by several groups of mortals dressed in silver chainmail and carrying short spears and curved blades.
Two such warriors, faces hidden by chainmail masks, were approaching the Stormcasts’ position, idly chatting as they came.
‘I have the one on the left,’ Thostos muttered to Liberator-Prime Steelhide. ‘Take the other.’
Pollux drew his twin warblades and crouched behind the nearest cluster of rocks, looking to his Lord-Celestant for the signal to move. The soldiers’ footsteps came closer and closer, and after several moments they rounded the boulders and came into view. They stopped dead in their tracks, eyes widening in shock as they saw the score of turquoise-armoured giants that crouched before them.
‘Who–’ managed the lead figure, before Thostos cut his words short with a thrown hammer. The heavy sigmarite weapon clattered to the floor, as did the broken body of the warrior. Steelhide darted from cover, thrusting one of his swords into the remaining figure’s chest, and bringing the other across backhand to strike the head from his shoulders.
There was a tense silence, then the sound of shouting voices.
‘No more time for subtlety,’ said Thostos, picking up his blood-smeared hammer as he ran forwards. ‘Kill fast, and move quickly.’
As one, the Stormcasts broke forwards over the lip of the bluff, following the Lord-Celestant into the clearing. There were only a score or so of warriors scattered about the place, and not a man amongst them was prepared for the onslaught that the Celestial Vindicators unleashed. Atrin opened up with his crossbow, and a volley of sigmarite bolts sped across the clearing to send two figures tumbling away. Two more, unlucky enough to be within reach of Thostos, fell to vicious strikes from sword and hammer. The rest of the Judicator retinue unleashed a volley from their crossbows, and five more of the enemy were blasted off their feet.
The greater part of their number dead in seconds, the remaining mortals turned and ran up the curving stair towards the entrance to the tower.
The Stormcasts followed close behind.
Eldroc caught the axe blow on the haft of his halberd, forced the orruk’s weapon down low, and slammed his fist into the creature’s ugly face. It stumbled back, and he hacked it down with his weapon’s axe blade. Redbeak leapt upon the fallen orruk, and tore its throat out with a snap of his beak.
‘Lord-Castellant, they have made the wall,’ came a voice from behind.
‘Paladins, with me!’ he shouted, hoping beyond hope that the orruks had not managed to force their way through the main gate. If the enemy breached in two places, they were done. They simply did not have the numbers to fight an open battle on two fronts.
Focus on the task at hand, he reminded himself. These walls must be cleared. He could see the orruks ahead, in the shadow of the Dreadhold’s central tower. A band of Liberators was trying to stem the tide of yellow-clad warriors, but they were slowly being pushed back, and more orruks were hauling themselves up the wall at their flank.
For all its lack of martial discipline and tactical expertise, Eldroc found the orruks’ bluntly simplistic assault a horribly effective one. The creatures hesitated not a single second, dragging themselves up the fortress wall with astonishing speed despite their weight. With no Stormcasts versed in their operation, the fire-spewing daemonic mouths that lined the Dreadhold’s exterior were effectively little more than welcoming handholds. Though hundreds of orruks were slaughtered by the lightning bursts and crossbow bolts of the Celestial Vindicators, there were simply too many of the enemy, and too few Stormcasts, to keep the ramparts clear.
Eldroc roared with fury as he charged forwards, swiping the head from an orruk that poked its ugly face over the wall with a vicious slice from his halberd. He spun the weapon, holding the haft horizontally to smash it into the face of another creature. Yet another hauled itself over the edge behind him, but as he turned he saw it go down under a hammer-strike from a Retributor. Dark blood splattered across his armour, and the twitching body of the orruk was lifted and pitched back over the wall.
Now the lines of battle were hopelessly chaotic. Orruks flanked the band of Liberators, and were in turn attacked from behind by the great hammers and mighty axes of the elite Paladin warriors. Still more of the enemy crawled up and over the wall.
The press was so tight that it was difficult to move, and harder still to find the space to wield his halberd effectively. He thrust with the spear-tip at any orruks that came close, aiming for throats and eye sockets. The stone beneath his feet was slick with blood, and he found himself treading upon broken forms that moaned as they were crushed by the sheer weight of surging bodies.
Eldroc’s advance swept clean the left side of the Dreadhold’s ramparts. Freed from their precarious, flanked position, the Liberators and Judicators on that side of the fortress began to recover and push back those orruks that remained. The Paladins began to lift up the heavy, dead bodies of the orruks and hurl them back over into the roiling mass of green flesh, relying on their sheer weight to crush the unfortunate creatures below.
The Celestial Vindicators burst through into the interior of the tower, hot on the heels of the fleeing mortals. Most of the soldiers ran for the great, wide stair that curved upwards from the interior hall, but one made instead for a strange device on the far side of the room. It resembled a great shell, several handspans across, the whorl spiralling out to join a funnel that ran alongside the great stairway, stretching to the roof above. Before Thostos could reach him, the warrior put his lips to this device, and an ominous note issued forth – a great, resonating blast that echoed around the structure loudly enough to shake the teeth.
Thostos reached the man and cut him down, but the damage had been done. Every single being in this place would be aware of their presence now.
He glanced up. Above the Stormcasts soared a dizzying spiral of hundreds of cells, each carved from a strange, metallic coral-like substance. The complex stretched on and on over their heads, so high that the very dimensions of the place seemed unfathomable. From the outside, there had been no indication of such a colossal s
pace. The angle, too, was wrong – vertical instead of lying askew, as it had first appeared. Thostos felt the sway of vertigo, the nauseous resonance of sorcerous power. There was something else up there too, an orb of glowing light that bathed the walls in a silver-blue glow.
Arrows whipped down from on high, skittering off the armour of the Stormcasts. Those that bore shields raised them to fend off the barrage, while the Judicator bowmen returned with a volley of their own. Dozens of yards overhead, the spiral walkway with its ammonite guardrail rippled in explosions of light, and a shower of coral fragments and ruptured bodies toppled down the central column to burst upon the floor.
‘Forward!’ yelled Thostos. ‘To the summit.’
The Prosecutors rose into the air, circling their way up the main tower and unleashing devastating strikes with their celestial hammers, which smashed through crystal and stone-coral as if it were kindling. As each warrior hurled his magical weapon, he summoned one anew from the aether.
Those on foot began to advance. They moved slowly, checking each cell as they passed by. The bars were not metal, but razor-sharp spears of blue crystal stabbed deep into the floor. Each cell contained a rough stone slab set with leather straps. Most of the cells were empty, containing nothing but the dark stains of spilled blood, but in others they saw shattered skeletons, or pitiful, wasted figures that cringed and scuttled away in terror as they passed.
The sheer quantity of arrows loosed by the mortal guards above began to take its toll. A Judicator fell, clutching at his throat. As he toppled over the guardrail he turned once in mid-air before disappearing in a burst of light. Other Stormcasts fell to the floor, crashing back down the path to the levels below.
‘Do not stop for a moment,’ shouted Thostos, as his warriors began to pause in order to aid their stricken fellows. ‘We keep moving or we die here.’
And so they pushed on, floor after floor. Mortal warriors wrapped in silver chainmail and tattooed with blue ink rushed at them from anterior tunnels and guardposts. These men were hardy fighters, disciplined and resilient. They attacked Thostos and his men with measured skill, not the unbarred aggression of the Blood God’s faithful. They feinted forwards to hurl a volley of javelins and axes, then fell back and flanked from different angles. They used their knowledge of the tower’s hidden pathways admirably.
Yet for all their skill, they were still merely mortals.
Relius had lost his sword in the melee, dropped when an orruk had slammed its axe into his shoulder and split his flesh to the bone. They were perilously close to the inner courtyard of the fortress now, having been steadily pushed back by the unrelenting ferocity of the enemy assault. The corridor was thick with corpses, yet the creatures came on regardless, slipping over the ruined remnants of their dead. Relius slammed his shield into a leering face, felt bones shatter under the heavy sigmarite, and raised it high to deflect another falling axe.
‘We can’t hold this,’ shouted the Liberator at his side. Relius could not spare a glance to check, but it sounded like Vallus.
‘We must,’ he shouted. ‘If they break through it is over.’
Something struck his leg, and there was an explosion of agony. Foolish. The orruk he had smashed to the floor had not been killed, and it had sunk a cleaver into the flesh of his thigh. Relius cursed as his leg gave way. He held his shield over his face, and felt heavy boots force him further to the floor as another of the creatures vaulted over his prone form and deeper into the Stormcasts’ ranks. His world was a forest of struggling, kicking boots and splattered blood. He tried to drag himself upright, but there was simply no room. He was stuck fast, and would be until the enemy noticed him and drove an axe into his skull.
‘Glory to Sigmar!’ came a booming voice, resonating within the cramped gatehouse tunnel. ‘Not a single step backwards, brothers. Death to the enemies of Azyr!’
Through the chaos of twisting, flailing bodies Relius caught a glimpse of Lord-Castellant Eldroc at the head of a formation of Retributors.
He barrelled straight into the orruks, his wondrous halberd smashing and stabbing as he hacked a path for the warriors to follow.
They did so mercilessly. Of all the elite Paladin disciplines, it was the Retributors that most closely symbolised the Celestial Vindicators’ way of war. Simple, straightforward power, the fury of unleashed aggression. Vengeance dispatched with cold fury, and delivered with the killing face of a sigmarite hammer.
These warriors amongst warriors pushed through to the front of the melee, battering the enemy aside with thunderous swings of their two-handed weapons. Lightning arced in the narrow confines of the tunnels as the hammers impacted, pummelling iron armour into a shapeless mass, crushing skulls and scorching flesh.
‘Up you get, Liberator-Prime,’ said Eldroc, hauling Relius to his feet.
‘I am sorry, Lord-Castellant,’ he said. ‘I have failed. There were too many, and we could not hold them at the gate.’
‘Do not speak of failure again,’ said Eldroc sternly. ‘We were never going to hold a shattered gateway for long, especially against such numbers. You have killed as many of the creatures as possible, and that is all I could ask. Our hope now lies in the hands of others.’
The Lord-Castellant turned to him. Relius noticed that the man’s helm bore a nasty cut from temple to jaw, through which blood was seeping. Countless minor wounds covered his fine armour. It seemed that the fighting upon the walls had been no less fierce than down here.
‘Do not concern yourself, brother,’ said Eldroc, clapping him on the shoulder reassuringly. ‘I fear a minor scratch will be the least of our worries, come the day’s end. Here.’
Eldroc held out a gladius, and Relius accepted it. The weight of the blade was reassuring, and he clasped it tightly.
‘Onwards then,’ said the Lord-Castellant, hefting his halberd. ‘Let us see if we cannot thin the herd a little more.’
‘Onwards,’ shouted Thostos, sweeping another foe aside with his hammer. The mortal slammed against the wall and slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
It felt as if they had been running for days. They had killed their way upwards, smashing through the resistance they encountered on each level of the structure, pushing onwards and onwards relentlessly.
At the apex of the tower above them hung a great, multifaceted orb of silver and blue, sending floating lights dancing around the tower as they drew closer. Not knowing where the Knight-Azyros was held, Thostos pushed his warriors hard for the summit, knowing that the leader of these accursed mortals likely dwelt there. There was little time. Strange, fluting horns echoed around them, an atonal cacophony that drew more and more soldiers towards them. They had struck fast, and with the advantage of surprise, but the enemy was waking up.
They were close, now. They drew level with the huge form of the crystal, and Thostos glanced into its shimmering depths. Faces swam within, distant as if viewed beneath the waters of a frozen lake. There were dozens, scores of them. They were screaming.
‘Few are the warriors who come to the tower of Lorchis willingly,’ came a voice from on high. The shadows overhead warped and twisted, and from them dropped a disc of shining metal, its edge thick with vicious spikes. Upon the disc crouched an impressive figure – a warrior clad in robes of bright azure, clutching in one hand a glaive that ignited with a pure yellow flame. In his other he grasped a fine buckler, painted with the image of a rampant drake. He wore a full-face helm with sweeping horns, edged with gold and scores of precious gems.
‘This is a place for lost souls, shining warriors,’ Lorchis said as he came to a halt in the air several feet above their heads. ‘A place of stolen secrets. I wonder what mysteries I may prise from you. A greater bounty than your winged brother offered me, perhaps?’
‘You will release him,’ said Thostos.
‘Will I?’ the man laughed. His voice was surprisingly so
ft, more curious than angry. ‘You are few, knight of justice, and my men are legion. Neither is time on your side. Your fellow warrior was very accommodating of my inquiries. I hear your weakling god weaves new battle plans as we speak.’
Atrin stepped forwards and let loose a volley. The lord of the tower laughed as he dipped backwards upon his floating disc. The sigmarite bolts skipped off the underside of the artefact, and the man rose into the air away from the Stormcasts.
‘Enough talk, then,’ he said, laughing good-naturedly. ‘Vitenoryx, thin our guests down to a more manageable number.’
There was a deep, predatory snarl from above. Something huge and terrible unwound itself from the roof of the tower, and dropped gracefully to land on top of the great crystal. Thostos saw a powerful, muscular form, recalling that of a lion, save for the pair of leathery wings that protruded from its torso. Not one, but three pairs of blazing eyes looked down upon them, glowing with a cruel, feral hunger.
Three monstrous mouths opened wide as the monster tucked its wings and fell towards the Stormcasts. From the central, draconic maw a stream of blue-white flame spat forth. It splashed across the front ranks of the Celestial Vindicators, and three warriors fell to the ground, writhing and screaming as the magical fire ate away at their plate armour. The chimera spread its wings once more, arresting the speed of its descent and dropping to land upon the spiral walkway. The lion’s head snapped out, engulfing another Stormcast’s upper torso. The creature shook its prey violently and hurled the broken body into empty space.
Lightning arrows and crossbow bolts skipped off the creature’s thick hide as the Judicators opened up with punishing volleys. The creature roared in fury, and another gout of flame spat out at the Stormcasts. The platform upon which Thostos and his men stood began to bubble and warp under the furious heat. Vitenoryx continued to spew fire as it shook and tore at the ground with powerful forelimbs.
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