by Various
‘Well. I don’t recall inviting you two, but welcome aboard regardless,’ the heavyset man in the golden mask said. Though Gage couldn’t see his face, he sounded amused. ‘I suppose it’s only fitting – what is the point of a grand working without an audience to appreciate it?’ He leaned lazily against his staff. ‘My name is Rollo Tarn. I’m told you were looking for me.’
‘Rollo Tarn,’ Gage said, ‘surrender yourself, in the name of the God-King and the Celestial Realm–’
Tarn threw back his head and laughed. ‘I do not recognise the authority of your tyrant-god, witch hunter.’ His armoured companion joined in the merriment with his own hollow chuckles, and Gage felt his stomach lurch at the sound. He was certain now that there was nothing human under that armour.
‘Whether you recognise it or not, it has come for you,’ Carus growled. He glared about him, and the crew drew back a step. Tarn looked at him.
‘Come to burn more innocents on your holy pyres, Stormcast?’
Carus glared at him. ‘You are not innocent.’
Tarn spread his hands. ‘No. I am not, at that. Not for a very long time, at least. But the blood I have spilled was done so for a great purpose.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ Gage said. ‘It’s always the way with your sort. But your great purpose inevitably amounts to the same thing – death and ruin. Not today.’ He extended his sword. ‘Today, your purpose is unravelled.’
Tarn looked at him. ‘I think not. Fate is an ocean, and its tides can wear down even the mightiest of mountains. And these tides have been at work for a very long time.’
‘The wood,’ Gage said, coldly. ‘It’s cursed.’
‘Blessed,’ Tarn corrected. ‘Every scrap and sliver of it is both gate and key in one. I spent a fortune bringing it into the city, hiding its true origins, ensuring that it was used in every building I could. Now, I will turn the key and throw wide the gate. But first… Aek, bring me the Stormcast’s lightning.’
‘It would be a pleasure, coven-brother,’ the tall warrior said. He stepped up easily onto the rail and then off it, walking across the air as if it were solid ground. He hauled his blade off his shoulder, and it moaned eerily as he swept it about himself.
‘That’s no normal sword,’ Gage said.
‘That’s no normal warrior,’ Carus growled. ‘It is a fatemaster – another cursed slave of Tzeentch, and a far greater one than any curseling.’
Gage tensed. Fatemasters were among the deadliest of the diverse servants of the Ruinous Powers. They were fell warriors, infused with unnatural strength and longevity.
The wind picked up, and the ship’s rigging thrashed like a wounded animal. Gage could feel it pulling at him, threatening to knock him sprawling. His coat flapped about him, and his boot soles scuffed the deck as he was pushed backwards, step by step.
Carus had no such difficulty. He stalked towards the approaching fatemaster, head bowed against the wind. The Lord-Veritant slammed his staff down, and the wood of the deck buckled and blackened about the point of impact. The air took on an electric charge, and Gage felt his hackles prickle. The Stormcast released the staff, leaving it upright in the deck.
The fatemaster dropped down, quicker than the eye could follow. His blade wailed like a lost soul as it swept towards Carus. The Stormcast interposed his own, and there was a sound like the pealing of a great bell as the swords met.
Crewmembers were knocked sprawling by the reverberations of the blow, and Gage stumbled back against the rail. Lightning snapped and snarled about Carus as he met the fatemaster blade to blade. The daemon-sword keened piercingly, while Carus’ judgement blade blazed brighter with every impact. For long moments, the only sound was the crash of metal as the two warriors circled one another, their duel carrying them from one side of the deck to the other.
While all eyes were on the battle, Gage hurriedly reloaded his pistols. His hands moving on instinct, he let his eyes roam. The wood of the deck pulsed strangely in time with every blow. He wondered if the airship was made from the same wood that had been stacked in the warehouse. As if in answer to this thought, two deck boards at his feet bent away from one another like the lids of a monstrous eye, and something yellow and shimmering peered up at him. Its slit pupil contracted as it caught sight of him.
He leapt back as more boards tore away, revealing a fanged maw. A slobbering laugh emerged from the mouth as he backed away. More eyes and mouths and waggling fingers began to emerge from the wood, piercing it as if it were a thin membrane. Indistinct shapes hunched and heaved, straining to free themselves. Coarse laughter filled his ears as daemons swam through the wood in pursuit of him. Only the light of Carus’ lantern was keeping them from fully manifesting.
‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’
Gage turned, pistol raised. Tarn stood close by, watching him. Too close.
‘They’re always there, you know,’ he said, taking a step forwards. Crewmen surrounded him like an honour guard. ‘Watching. Waiting. Tzeentch’s hand is at your throat, though you see it not. His servants walk among you, serene and unknown.’ He gestured to himself and the crew. ‘And now, the time has come for them to reveal themselves. They shall break through again, where they broke through of old, and the cities of men shall burn in prismatic fire.’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘You can’t,’ Tarn said. He laughed, and spread his hands. Scintillating flames blossomed on his palms and quickly engulfed his hands. ‘The rite has begun, and the crooked path stretches through Hammerhal Ghyra. The city will belong to the Architect of Fate.’
Chapter Six
HEXWOOD
The daemon-tree lurched forwards on torn roots, flailing its burning branches. Somehow, in some way unknown to sanity, the daemon-flame had twisted the trees into monstrosities. The mouth in its trunk gnawed mindlessly at the air. Goat-like eyes glared from knotholes and a stink of old blood and rotting wood rolled over Serena as she raised her shield. A branch crashed down on the sigmarite, leaving a trail of smouldering sap. She hewed at the branch, trying to ignore the roots that clawed at her legs.
Her warblade drew thick gouts of sap from the tree’s branches, and it reeled back, as if in pain. The tree writhed, its trunk splitting and bleeding as it turned away from her to swat Ravius off his feet. He fell onto his back, and only just managed to interpose his shield between himself and a branch. More branches hammered down, driving him deeper into the loam. Roots slithered over him, as if to drag him beneath the ground. Serena moved to aid him. She chopped apart those roots she could while still defending herself, but the more of them she cut away, the more that lashed about her struggling comrade.
Burning trees lumbered into battle all along the shieldwall, shrieking eerily. Heavy branches swept down, leaving behind burning trails of pine needles. Stormcasts staggered or fell, knocked off their feet by heavy blows or tripped up by slithering roots. More of the flame-spewing daemons raced through the gaps made by the trees, seeking easier prey.
Before they got far, a withering volley of crackling arrows struck them down. The arrows streaked across the clearing, punching the creatures back. Serena glanced behind her and saw a cohort of Judicators approaching, skybolt bows humming as the archers nocked and loosed their deadly missiles. Wherever the shimmering arrows struck, lightning sparked and snapped, casting a white glare across the battlefield.
‘Eyes forward, Sunstrike,’ Aetius said as he shoved past her. He drove the rim of his shield down, severing one of the roots that entangled Ravius. ‘And you, Ravius – on your feet. This is no time for lazing about.’
Together, Serena and the Liberator-Prime managed to free Ravius as the Judicators advanced. The Stormcast archers loosed a pinpoint volley into the trees over the heads of the Liberators, snapping branches and opening steaming black wounds in the squirming bark.
Trees toppled, groaning. A second
volley swiftly followed the first. The tree looming over Serena and the others split open and burst, scattering burning pulp over them. Even as it fell, a knot of daemons lolloped towards them, spitting flame. Serena only just managed to interpose her shield. She gritted her teeth against the heat as the Judicator-Prime of the cohort moved to aid her.
‘Easy, sister – hold it back a moment longer,’ he said, his voice mild. He nocked an arrow and took aim just over her head. ‘Easy, easy – there!’ He loosed the arrow and she heard a yowl, cut short. The flames diminished and the heat faded; she lowered her shield and quickly thrust her blade into the wounded daemon before it could rise.
She glanced back at the archer. ‘My thanks, Solus.’
He nodded genially and drew another arrow from his quiver. ‘I’m here to help, as ever.’ Solus spoke calmly, as if he were anywhere other than on a battlefield. The Judicator-Prime was a serene presence, and one that many among the Steel Souls looked to for reassurance when things were at their bleakest.
‘Took you long enough,’ Aetius said, shoving another daemon back. He smashed his hammer into one of its maws and tore its body open. It reeled, hissing. Solus loosed an arrow into it, knocking it backwards in a clap of lightning.
‘I wanted to be sure you actually needed help, brother. You can be very indignant about such things, at times.’
Solus nocked another arrow. Around him, his Judicators spread out behind the shieldwall. At his command, they loosed a withering volley. Daemons shrieked and spun, setting more trees alight as they came apart in shreds of viscous slime and shimmering motes.
As the last of the daemons dissipated, the warped trees tottered towards the shieldwall. Somewhere beyond them, Serena could hear the sound of running feet and the crash of metal on metal. Screeches and howls echoed up; the tzaangors had regrouped, and were using the lurching trees as cover as they raced towards their foes.
She was forced to step back as a heavy branch slammed down, nearly crushing her flat. Nearby, a Judicator screamed as a jagged branch punched through a gap in her armour. She fell, her form reduced to crackling sparks of azure lightning. A Liberator was dragged bodily out of line and into the mass of trees, where he vanished from sight. His curses dissolved into howls of agony before another blue bolt soared skywards. Roots lashed through the gap he’d left, slamming against the warriors to either side, causing them to stumble. The shieldwall was beginning to fray beneath the unyielding assault.
Serena jerked her shield up over her head. A branch splintered itself against it. ‘We have to fall back!’ she shouted.
Aetius nodded, but before he could reply, the ground began to shake. Serena turned and saw Gardus’ bodyguard of Retributors advancing quickly to the fore, Feros in the lead.
‘Step aside, brothers and sisters!’ he roared. His voice echoed through her like the rumble of thunder. ‘It is time to gather some firewood.’
The Paladin Retributors advanced as a solid wedge as the Liberator shieldwall dispersed. When they struck home, the wedge flared and opened, revealing Lord-Celestant Gardus in their midst. His light blazed forth, and the corrupted trees cowered back. Their newly sprouted eyes rolled and their twisted mouths gibbered as the radiance washed over them.
The Retributors, led by Gardus, went to work. Wherever their hammers struck, a tree toppled, or burst into cleansing flame. Gardus’ own tempestos hammer snapped out. Lightning flashed through the glade, and a twisted tree splintered. It toppled with an almost human groan, branches flailing.
‘On the final day, who will remain?’ the Lord-Celestant roared. ‘Only the faithful!’ Feros and the other Retributors echoed him, their voices rising up over the sound of destruction.
As the last of the ambulatory trees fell, a tzaangor leapt over it and swung a two-handed blade at the Lord-Celestant. Gardus parried the tzaangor’s blade and smashed the creature from its feet with bone-breaking force.
‘Who will guide the lost from the dark of despair?’ he cried. A second tzaangor was sent sprawling, neck snapped, as it slunk out of the mist and smoke. ‘Only the faithful!’ Gardus lashed out with a boot and kicked a tzaangor backwards. As it stumbled, he caved in its skull. ‘When the strength of men fades, who will yet stand?’
‘Only the faithful!’ Serena responded, her voice joining that of every Stormcast within earshot.
She clashed shields with a charging tzaangor and knocked the beastkin sprawling. She stamped on its chest, crushing its sternum, then turned to meet the charge of another. The avian monsters flooded out of the trees, attacking with a singular ferocity. Solus’ Judicators chose their targets with precision, trying to stem the assault, but slowly the line of Liberators and Retributors was being driven back by the sheer press of bodies. Only Gardus held his ground, and neither daemon nor beast could touch him.
For a moment, his light blazed forth, brighter than the moon above, only to be snuffed out by a vivid firestorm that engulfed him and his bodyguards with a colossal roar of sour light and strangling heat. Feros, on the fringes of the blast, was knocked to one knee, parts of his war-plate fused to slag. Several of his cohort were sent hurtling back to Azyr before they even had a chance to scream. Gardus himself was hurled back into the battle-line, his armour smoking. He crashed through the shieldwall, knocking several Stormcasts sprawling.
Half a dozen flying shapes screamed out of the smoke and flame.
The tzaangors were mounted on daemonic disc-like creatures. Some of the discs resembled spinning sawblades, while others looked like tailless lampreys studded with barnacles of bone. Several of the tzaangors carried bows, while others grasped barbed spears. The one in the lead bore no obvious weaponry, but seemed all the more dangerous for it. Unlike the rest of its foul kin, the creature was clad in shimmering robes and bedecked with thick plumage. The air bubbled and twisted around it, as if the world itself were trying to reject the creature.
‘Shaman,’ Aetius spat.
The tzaangor shaman hurtled across the clearing over the heads of the stunned Stormcasts. Crouched atop its whirring disk of brass and silver, it gestured with its crooked staff. Blue flame cascaded from its tip, enveloping a nearby knot of Freeguilders as they rushed to bolster the battle-line.
The soldiers screamed as their flesh darkened, and they collapsed to the ground, tearing at their uniforms. Feathers burst from their flesh, and their skulls cracked and split, lengthening into new shapes. Serena watched in horror as the mortal warriors were twisted into braying tzaangors. The creatures lurched to their feet, still clad in the rags of their uniforms, and lunged at their former fellows. Several of them peeled off and rushed for the wagon on which the Impertinent Maiden sat.
The helblaster volley gun gave a roar, and the rushing tzaangors were reduced to bloody pulp and mist. The crew hastily began to reload as a tzaangor disc-rider shrieked out of the thickening mist. The beastkin whipped past them and separated their heads from their necks with its spear in a spray of red. Smelling blood, the ghyroch pulling the wagon snorted and began to gallop away, spilling shot and supplies from the back as it went.
Lightning crackled as Solus’ Judicators loosed a well-timed volley. The disc fell, writhing sickeningly, arrows jutting from its underside. The tzaangor rider hit the ground and rolled, squalling. Freeguilders closed in on it as it clambered to its feet, but were driven back by its barbed spear. It fought with a savage skill, moving more swiftly than the mortals could match.
Serena glanced at Aetius, who nodded tersely. ‘Go,’ he said, taking her place in line.
She raced towards the creature, moving as fast as her war-plate allowed. It turned at the last moment, thrusting its spear towards her. She caught the blow on her shield, and guided the barbed blades over her shoulder in a spray of sparks. She drew a line of blood from its side, and then they were moving in a tight circle. Spitting unintelligible gibberish, it spun its spear, the weapon seeming to leave phantom af
terimages in its wake. The tzaangor thrust the spear at her again and again, driving her back.
As she blocked its blows on her shield, she saw more of the disc-riders hurtle through the walls of flame. These carried cruel-looking bows rather than spears, and they loosed as skilfully as any Judicator did. A Liberator was punched from his feet, an arrow jutting from the eye-slit of his helm. As he fell, his form dissolved into lightning and surged upwards. More daemonic arrows thudded into a bellowing ghyroch, slaying the dumb beast in its tracks. Arrows punched into the ground around Serena, sending her stumbling back.
Her opponent leapt forwards, cackling as its disc-riding brethren swooped by, seeking new prey. The spear twisted, gouging deep lines across the face of her shield and nearly tearing it from her arm. She turned with the blow, and slashed at the beastkin. They moved back and forth, trading blows. It was faster than she was, and that speed only seemed to grow as the fight went on. Their blades connected, and she felt the reverberation not just in her arm, but in her soul as well. It shook things loose within her, brief fragments of the past dappling her consciousness like raindrops. She saw a woman’s face – her own, perhaps – and felt a faint echo of melancholy. It slipped away as another blow tore her shield from her.
She staggered back, flourishing her warblade to keep her opponent at bay. It lunged again, but lurched at the last moment as a crossbow bolt sprouted from its neck. Beyond it, she saw Sergeant Creel make the sign of the hammer in triumph, or perhaps thanks. Teeth bared, she took a two-handed grip on her warblade and drove it through the beastkin’s chest until the hilt clanked against its armour.