Warbeast, page 18
‘Arkas!’
The Warbeast turned, surprised.
‘What is it?’ demanded Theuderis. ‘Have the Chaos tribes returned already?’
‘No.’ The Warbeast shook his head.
‘What are they saying? What does that word mean?’
Arkas hefted his weapons and looked at Theuderis.
‘Vermintide.’
Across the dead of the battle they swarmed. Up from the Black River, down from the forested slopes, emerging from every crack and crevasse in the ice field. A living carpet of fur and fangs and glinting eyes. Many were simple rats, bodies slicked with grease and blood from the corpses, each no bigger than a fist. But there were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Others were far larger – warp-mutants as big as dogs, collared with rusted iron, naked tails as long as broadswords. Some were scaled, some naked but for protrusions of bone, some even skinless with visible muscle and flesh and strands of rope-like sinew.
From across Ursungorod they had come, white as snow, grey as ash, black as pitch. The air was filled with the nerve-jangling scratch of claws on ice and armour, the slither of dark bodies over flesh and the rustling of cloth, the chittering and squealing – a nightmare orchestration.
The wave moved as one, possessed by the singular will of the Great Horned Rat, directed by the malevolence of Poxmaster Felk. As an undulating mass, the swarm welled up from the ravine of the Bear’s Fangs and slithered across the glacier from the valley walls. The rats burst out onto the snowfield, surging like a storm front.
With them came a sorcerous mist. It streamed from hex-laden bodies like green smoke, a trail of pestilent vapour flowing from fanged mouths, heavy with foul enchantment.
A band of Ursungorans had been burning the dead of the battle. They were taken in a few heartbeats, vanishing into the ravenous swarm with barely a shriek. The lookouts had just enough time to shout warnings before the dark wave was scampering up tower-mounds and into window slits, pouring down open sally ports like filthy water. Beacon fires stayed unlit, bells and horns unsounded. The guards screamed, the only alarm calls they could muster before they were overwhelmed by biting, clawing horror.
Into the tunnels washed the deluge of rats, pooling and bursting in waves, overrunning everything. Some of the Ursungorans tried to run, others fought. Neither were successful; whether dragged down from behind or with weapons in their hands, it made no difference. Armour was no defence against a foe that was dozens of slashing claws, scores of gnawing fangs. Flailing and shouting, flesh turned to bloody ribbons, they fell.
Such was the scene that confronted Arkas as he and Theuderis burst into one of the great chambers, dozens of Stormcasts converging from different directions. The massive warriors waded into the vermin, laying about with maces, swords and hammers. Dozens of the foul creatures died with every sweep of the enchanted weapons but there were dozens more to take their place. Against the armour of Sigmar’s chosen, claws and fangs were small threats, but in turn the Stormcasts could not slay enough. Their greatest weapons, tempest-wreathed javelin, crossbow and bow, were useless against such a heaving mass, the warriors unable to unleash their full power for fear of harming the few Ursungorans that continued to battle vainly in the midst of the vermintide.
‘Knights-Azyros! Samat!’ Theuderis forged waist-deep through the leaping, snarling rats, carving a furrow through them with metronomic swings of his celestial hammer. ‘Glavius!’
No specific order was needed. The Silverhands’ warriors knew exactly what was required. The Lord-Relictor plunged into the morass of vermin, spearing a gigantic rat with the haft of his morbid icon. Planting the mortuary standard, Glavius thrust out his hammer towards the swarm. His divine icon shimmered with the power celestial. Forks of lightning crawled down his arm and across his body to spear from his out-thrust weapon. Where they struck, bursts of blue fire erupted, incinerating the vermin a score at a time.
Samat and his fellow Knights-Azyros could not take flight, but that was not their intent. Flanking Theuderis, they strode through the snapping, hissing rats, oblivious to their scratching and biting. Holding aloft their celestial beacons, they called in unison for the power of the God-King to smite their foes.
The blast of Azyrite light that filled the chamber blinded even Arkas, who had left mounds of dead rats as tall as himself in his wake. Blinking clear his vision, he saw hundreds of smouldering rodent corpses littering the chamber floor. Closer to the ring of Knights-Azyros, the corpses were ash mounds, and at their feet nothing was left but dark grease stains on the stone flags.
The respite was momentary. More and more rats were streaming down the tunnels and passageways. Arkas turned, seeking Katiya. She stood at one of the corridor entrances shepherding the last children away while her followers hacked and slashed at the few rats that had survived the tempest of celestial energy.
‘Go!’ he shouted at her. ‘Run!’
She looked as if she would argue. Her eyes moved past him and widened in horror. The fresh wave of vermin was more monstrous than the first, a clawing, squealing pile of hound-sized rodents with curling ram’s horns, barbed tails and dagger-claws, spreading like oil across water. Thick clouds of filthy breath followed them, stinging eyes and burning throats. The handful of Ursungorans that had been saved by the celestial beacons were overwhelmed by the noxious vapours, hacking up blood, eyes and noses weeping thick pus while buboes blistered like burns on their exposed skin.
Katiya turned and ran, taking her people with her, leaving Arkas and the other two dozen Stormcasts alone with the plague rats.
‘Seal the chamber!’ bellowed Theuderis, moving to block the exit by which Katiya’s group had fled.
Arkas broke left, crushing bodies underfoot, using his fists as much as his weapons to smash his way through the swarm while feral rodents hurled themselves at him with hisses and snarls. He swept his cloak round in a long arc, unleashing a wave of Azyr-born hammers that crackled and spat with lightning as they smashed a furrow through the vermin throng.
The others, an eclectic mix of Judicators, Knights-Azyros, Decimators and Liberators, pushed towards the tunnels like men wading through heavy surf, battering and slashing against the living tide. Decimators brought down their starsoul maces in mighty two-handed swings, unleashing thunderous explosions that scattered the giant rats by the score. Judicators loosed missile after missile into the heaving mass, their quivers never emptied, firing as swiftly as they could summon the celestial energy for each projectile.
A gigantic rodent leapt for Arkas’ neck. He caught it in mid-air with the flat of his blade, snapping its spine, its lifeless body splashing against the wall to leave a red smear across the ice. So thick were the bodies underfoot that he almost tripped, bogged down as though crossing a mountain fen.
The miasma of sickness cloyed in his throat and nostrils, acidic and dry. His reforged body was strengthened against even the harshest warp-taint, but his eyes streamed and his lungs burned all the same.
The Lord-Relictor, Glavius, raised his storm-wreathed icon, incanting a benediction of Sigmar. The bones within his sarcophagus-icon gleamed with power. Where the light touched the vapours they burned with white fire. The wave of cleansing power coruscated through the air in a ragged ring around Glavius.
Eventually the incoming tide stopped, the seemingly inexhaustible swarm ending as suddenly as it had arrived. It was little comfort, for Arkas knew that they had faced only a fraction of the vermintide. His sword slashed through another handful of beasts and a final volley from the Judicators scoured the chamber of the remaining rodents.
‘We must hunt down the rest,’ said Theuderis.
‘We have to evacuate the Ursungorans,’ Arkas replied, waving a hand through the last wisps of plague-fog that lingered. ‘Nowhere is safe below ground while this pestilent smog remains.’
Theuderis nodded and snapped out orders to his warriors. The few Celestial Vindicators looked to Arkas for command.
‘With me,’ he said, stepping towards the passage where Katiya had left. ‘Move speedily, kill swiftly. Time is the greater enemy now.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Clouds obscured the stars and moons, blanketing the Bear’s Pelt in utter darkness. A pale blue light flickered in the forests on the western slopes of the valley, casting long shadows from the trees. The beacons of the Knights-Azyros lit the way for the dozens of scattered groups of Stormcasts and Ursungorans as they picked their way across the treacherous ice, heading towards the sanctuary promised by that holy light.
Three times Arkas made the journey from the City of Ice to the growing encampment on the slope, each time heading back into the chill catacombs to search for Katiya, each time finding pockets of terrified, shocked Ursungorans to lead to safety but no news of their leader.
Flights of Prosecutors circled and criss-crossed overhead, their wings a faint trail of iridescence against the gloom. Cordons of Liberators and Protectors guarded the approaches through the trees, wary of rats, skaven and the Chaos-tainted.
Knowing that he could wander the City of Ice all night and never find Katiya, Arkas resigned himself to a patient wait until morning. He sought out Theuderis, and found the Silverhand at the heart of the camp marshalling what resources were to hand. Trees had been felled to create wind breaks and the few belongings that had been snatched from the icy depths were passed to those in most need. Pale-faced children huddled in blankets and cloaks close to the fires banked up by their guardians, watching, mesmerised, as the stars of the celestial beacons passed back and forth overhead. In numb shock, they found comfort in the divine light of Sigmar shining down from between the boughs.
There was little enough food, but some stores had been saved and the Ursungorans’ best hunters had quickly checked their closest pits and snares and brought back several hares, deer and foxes. Hastor had insisted on leading Arkas’ Judicators on a hunt and had returned with three enormous mountain boars, their flesh seared by the blasts of celestial missiles. The Ursungorans were still butchering the huge carcasses ready for cooking.
Seeing Arkas approach, Theuderis dismissed his companions. His dracoth prowled the shadows at the perimeter of the camp, eyed warily by the Ursungorans as it sniffed and snorted in the darkness.
‘I can think of no surer guardian,’ said Theuderis, following Arkas’ gaze and line of thought. ‘Tyrathrax’s senses are far superior to even the patrols of our winged companions.’
‘I do not doubt it,’ said Arkas. He fell silent, tongue tied by awkwardness. He felt a fool for putting his hands on another Stormcast, but could not find the right words.
‘We are fortunate that the skaven did not seek to exploit their attack further,’ said Theuderis after a long silence. ‘Had they been waiting on the surface we would have been easy targets to bring down.’
‘Luck had no part in it,’ Arkas said, bitter memories stirring. ‘They kill from afar rather than risk their scrawny necks.’
‘Perhaps. It signals a change in the skaven’s plans, whatever their motivation.’
‘I have spoken to some of the Ursungorans. Neither in memory nor in their oldest stories has anything like this happened before. Our arrival has stirred the ratkin. They are trying to keep us from their lair so that they can concentrate on unearthing the realmgate. They will not be drawn forth, you can be sure of that.’
‘Even so, why have the skaven not tried anything like this before? What are they hoping to achieve now that we are here?’
Arkas thought about this but had no quick answers.
‘They are afraid. Desperate. Cowards to the last, but lashing out any way they can. Do not look for more ambition than cruel spite in these creatures. What they cannot dominate they kill.’
‘You are right.’ Theuderis tilted his head, deep in thought. ‘And perhaps in that you have found the solution. We stand at a confluence of events and must trust that the Lord Sigmar did not send us to Ursungorod at this time by whim. The preparation for the assault on the Allpoints gains momentum, the battle for the Realm of Life is pitched to full fury, and the skaven discover a realmgate that leads close to the Lifegate, hidden for... centuries, maybe millennia?’
‘Kill or be killed,’ said Arkas. He started to pace. Movement assisted the flow of thought. Light from the growing fires gleamed on his armour, countless scratches marring the surface. With a thought he let a surge of celestial energy sparkle across the surface, turning the plates back to unblemished turquoise while blood and crusted gore fell away in a shower of dried flakes. ‘When I fought the skaven they were led by a verminlord, a Corruptor named Skixakoth. By description I think this creature is among the daemonkin that assault the sylvaneth in the Vaults of the Spring Moon.’
‘How did you come by this knowledge?’ The question was asked in a neutral tone – too flat for Arkas’ liking, clearly masking more than curiosity.
‘Does it matter?’ He regretted his snapped reply immediately. It looked like evasion, which hinted at guilt. Arkas sighed. ‘I learnt this from the Queen of the Peak. It was her power that granted me the visions of the undercity of the skaven, and the realmgate.’
‘You have seen its location? Could you take us there?’
Arkas nodded. ‘That is my intent.’ He hesitated again, clawing for words that were uncomfortable to say. ‘I would welcome your opinion, Silverhand. In matters of strategy. I am the Warbeast, I’m sure you know my reputation as well as any other. I can seize the realmgate, I am sure of it. But I need your help to hold it.’
‘We are allies, are we not?’
‘We are.’ Arkas swallowed hard. ‘And in the spirit of alliance I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I laid hands upon you.’
‘Worse has been done in the Gladitorium.’
‘No, it should never have happened. I... This place, Ursungorod, affects me. I am a child of these lands, more than in flesh, in spirit. Sigmar took me, made me a being of the Celestial Sphere, but he cannot remove that shard of Ghur that is in my heart.’
‘I cannot say that I understand,’ said Theuderis. ‘It is obviously something more than simply returning to the place of your birth, but it is not an experience I have shared.’
Arkas looked at the Knight Excelsior for some time. Theuderis was unsure what the purpose was for such scrutiny.
‘Ask me what you want,’ he said. ‘I will answer truthfully to the best of my ability. There will be no secrets between us.’
‘Why do you care?’ said the Warbeast.
‘Care about what?’
‘All of this,’ said Arkas, waving a hand towards the Ursungorans, the camp, the forest, the mountains beyond. He turned slowly, looking up to where the light of celestial beacons flickered. ‘Why do you fight for Sigmar?’
The question surprised Theuderis. It took him a few moments to articulate his reply.
‘For the same reason as you. To save my people. To ensure that mankind has a future free from the tyranny and wrath of uncaring darkness.’
‘But you had saved your people, when Sigmar took you. The Glittering Breaches, your castles and armies, were safe.’
‘At that time. If I have learnt anything in Sigmaron it is that the threat of the Chaos Gods waxes and wanes. For a time they were held back by the God-King and his allies, but that did not last. We are where we are. Sigmar took me because I protected my lands, fostered cooperation rather than war, built as well as conquered. I would repay that honour.’
‘Honour?’ Theuderis could hear the grin in Arkas’ voice. ‘You think honour will help us in this place?’
‘I think that I believe in two principles. My honour and my duty, and they are entwined. I cannot say that Ursungorod holds any particular relevance for me. I would feel the same wherever Sigmar despatched me.’
‘Even to the Glittering Breaches?’
Theuderis had no answer for that. He did not like theoretical situations and questions.
‘I have a special regard for that place, but it is not my home.’
The Knight Excelsior started towards the perimeter, put on edge by Arkas’ attitude. The older Ursungoran children were digging in the mulch and dirt, creating a ditch and rampart between the trees. It was hard work on the frozen ground, and only a few paces had been erected. Theuderis did not see the point in any defensive sense, but it kept them engaged and made the Ursungorans feel they were doing something useful.
‘How can you say it is not your home?’ Arkas kept at his shoulder, speaking quietly but insistently.
‘The worlds turn, places change. Castle Lyonaster might be a great city or it might be nothing more than the duardin and human ruins that make up the bones of Ursungorod. My family are dead. The people I served and who served me are dead. The Glittering Breaches I knew no longer exist.’
Movement in the darkness further into the trees drew his eye, but it was only a trio of Ursungoran hunters prowling the shadows on patrol. Like the entrenchment, it was of little purpose when Stormcast Prosecutors, Knights-Venator and Knights-Azyros kept an immortal watch above. Theuderis’ warriors would know of any threat long before the natives.
‘You do not know?’ said Arkas, shocked. ‘How the war fares in the Glittering Breaches?’
‘No Stormcasts have yet been sent.’
‘It is possible to find out what is happening in the realms beyond Azyr. Lord Sigmar could tell you...’
‘I do not wish to know!’ snapped Theuderis. He kept his next rebuke in check, snatching in a breath instead. When his temper had cooled a little, he continued with quiet words. ‘I know you, Warbeast. Hungry for revenge, needing to punish those that wronged you. I cannot blame you, but I do not sympathise. You harbour a doubt, the thought that if you had stayed that perhaps your people would have prevailed?’
