The Black Rift of Klaxus - The Scarlet Lord
Page 4
Panting, the wrathmonger glared at Volundr. ‘Fight with us, war-smith. Fight… fight fight fight…’ he gibbered, spittle oozing from beneath the rim of his helm, as the others joined in like insane children. Volundr let his anvil tumble from his shoulder and strike the ground. At the hollow thud, the wrathmongers fell silent.
He studied them for a moment, considering. They were weapons too. Not so strong as Anhur, but like Apademak, they could be wielded to the Scarlet Lord’s benefit. ‘I will fight beside you,’ he said. ‘I will wield you in Khorne’s name, my brothers, if that is your wish.’
He clenched his free hand, and tore his palm. He held out his hand, his fingers red and dripping. The wrathmongers crowded close, mewling in eagerness as he marked them in blood with the rune of Khorne. Volundr laughed, as he anointed the wrathmongers. ‘Yes… I will forge you into something greater.’
The Avenue of Ten Skulls echoed to the tromp of sigmarite boots, as Lord-Celestant Orius led his chamber into the heart of Uryx. The column was composed of the bulk of the Adamantine’s retinues; those not seconded to Lord-Castellant Gorgus or left to guard the Mandrake Bastion and the Gnawing Gate now marched along the avenue towards the Bridge of Smoke, under Orius’ command. They were a sword, to be thrust into the foe.
And not for the first time, Orius thought, as he led his chamber through the rubble-strewn street. He had led warriors this way once before, he knew, though he could but dimly recall the circumstances. Flashes of memory showed him scenes of battle, as he and those who followed him fought their way through the personal guards of the priest-kings and clashed with the sulphur-knights along the broad avenue.
Everywhere he looked it seemed as if a new memory waited to pounce. He heard the cries of dying men, and the sound of blades crashing together. He could smell death and smoke and fear, all mingling in this place. He caught sight of ghostly shapes that fought and fell, just out of the corner of his eye, and some part of him knew that these were the final sounds Oros of Ytalan had heard, before his end.
…the searing hiss of the smoke-swords of the sulphur-knights as they cut down his companions, killing them one by one… He could hear Anhur calling for them to stand, to fight, even as Oros dragged him away from that hissing doom… If Anhur fell, the rebellion was doomed… Only Anhur could lead them… only Anhur…
But Anhur hadn’t. He had fled, abandoning his people, and sought new fields of conquest as Klaxus lurched on beneath the heels of the priest-kings. Orius felt the embers of his anger stir within him. Anhur had fled again and again, but not this time. This time, there would be no escape. This time, Anhur would pay for his crimes.
‘They’ve lost sight of Kratus’ beacon,’ Moros said, startling Orius from his reverie. The Lord-Relictor gestured with his staff to the Judicators on the rooftops above, who called down to the column of Stormcasts marching below. ‘Something has happened,’ Moros continued. ‘An ambush, perhaps.’
‘Should we go to his aid?’ Tarkus asked. The Knight-Heraldor sounded eager. Though they had met the enemy more than once during their advance, the battles that followed had been over far too quickly for the herald’s liking, Orius knew.
Before Orius could reply, a winged shape dropped to the ground before the vanguard of the column in a crackle of lightning. The Prosecutor’s golden armour was streaked with blood and grime as he rose to his feet, his shimmering wings folding behind his back. Orius held up his hammer, signalling for the column to halt in its advance. He recognised the warrior as one of Kratus’ retinue, and said, ‘What news, brother?’
‘Lord-Celestant Orius, Lord-Castellant Gorgus is cut off,’ the Prosecutor said. ‘The enemy has pierced our lines.’
Orius restrained a curse. If Gorgus was cut off, so too was the rest of the chamber. They were well and truly outnumbered now, not to mention surrounded. ‘What of the Silent One?’
‘We were ambushed, my lord,’ the Prosecutor said. ‘The Knight-Azyros sent us ahead, while he stayed to deal with the foe.’ He hesitated. ‘I… I do not know whether he yet lives. They were many, and he but one.’
‘Aye, and his one is worth their many.’ They seek to blind us, he thought, to surround us and batter us, until we become bogged down, unable to advance. The Bloodbound had the advantage of numbers, and time was on their side. Whatever was going on, whatever scheme Anhur was perpetrating, it was close to fruition. If they allowed the Bloodbound to delay them, there was no telling what horrors might arise… but if they advanced unsupported, they might fail regardless. He caught Moros’ eye.
‘Time is not on our side,’ the Lord-Relictor said.
‘When is it ever?’ Orius said. He had made his decision. He clapped the Prosecutor on the shoulder. ‘I must ask you miss out on the glories to come, brother. I need you and the rest of your retinue to take word to my fellow Lord-Celestants and apprise them of our situation. If we fail to take the Sulphur Citadel in time, they must know something of what they shall face.’
‘It shall be done, Lord-Celestant,’ the Prosecutor said, crashing his fist against his chest-plate. The winged warrior turned and sprang into the air. Followed by the rest of his retinue, he hurtled west towards the light of the fires that flickered on the horizon.
Orius turned to Tarkus. ‘Tarkus, take the vanguard,’ he said. ‘We must press on through the Avenue of Ten Skulls to the Plaza of Yellow Smoke. We are close, and we must not slow our pace. Not now. Range ahead, break the enemy where you find them. Move fast, but not without caution. Do you understand, Knight-Heraldor?’
‘Aye, Lord-Celestant,’ Tarkus cried. He lifted his horn and blew a signalling note as he quickly departed to lead his warriors forward. The vanguard would probe the strength of whatever force waited for them ahead, and break it, if possible. Orius turned to the remaining members of his auxiliary command.
‘Galerius, we shall lead the shield wall. Moros…’
‘I shall hold the centre,’ the Lord-Relictor said. From the centre of the column, Moros would be able to lend aid to either Gorgus or Orius at a moment’s notice, whichever might prove necessary. If Gorgus could not hold back the enemy, then Moros would advance to meet them. But if Gorgus won through, then he and Moros together could march to reinforce Orius and the rest of the Chamber as they advanced.
Orius turned to Galerius.
‘Speak, Knight-Vexillor. We are like the grindstone. The enemy will be ground beneath us. Speak, Galerius – show the standard.’ As he spoke, he raised his sword, and as one, the front ranks of the chamber began to march forward. ‘Let the enemy hear us coming, my friend, so that they know who has defeated them.’
‘Stand true, stand fast, Adamantine,’ Galerius cried, as he strode beside Orius. ‘Let no shield-arm dip, no sword-arm falter. We fight in Sigmar’s name, and he watches us, my brothers, he watches us and he sees how we hold his standard high.’ He struck the front of his chest-plate with the flat of his hammer. ‘We wage war in his name, Stormcasts. Cherish every breath you breathe here, cherish every ache accrued in his service, cherish the sound of sigmarite as it hews through hell-forged armour. Stand fast, my brothers, stand fast. We shall not move from our path, shall not bend nor break!’
‘WE SHALL NOT BREAK,’ the Stormcasts bellowed in response.
‘We are Adamantine – we shall not break!’ Galerius roared, striking the ground with his battle-standard and cracking the stones. ‘But the foe shall. They shall break and break again, until nothing remains. We are Adamantine, and nothing can stand against us!’
I am coming for you, Anhur, Orius thought, as he led the cheering warriors of the Adamantine forward. I am coming, Scarlet Lord, and nothing shall stand in my way…
About the Author
Josh Reynolds is the author of the Blood Angels novel Deathstorm and the Warhammer 40,000 novellas Hunter’s Snare and Dante’s Canyon, along with the audio drama Master of the Hunt, all three featuring the White Scars
. In the Warhammer World, he has written The End Times novels The Return of Nagash and The Lord of the End Times, the Gotrek & Felix tales Charnel Congress, Road of Skulls and The Serpent Queen, and the novels Neferata, Master of Death and Knight of the Blazing Sun. He lives and works in Northampton.
The storm breaks as the Stormcast Eternals go into battle for the first time. Read the first book set in the Age of Sigmar.
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Published in 2016 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
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