Warbeast, page 22
As elsewhere, the dominion of the Horned Rat was evident in many places. On the doorstep of the undercity, penned in by the indomitable peak itself and the fires of the Skagoldt Ridge, the tribes here had no option but to succumb to the power and temptations of the Chaos Pantheon.
Death was always an option, he reminded himself. He and his united clans had been willing to die rather than submit. There could be no pity for those who sought the sanctuary of Chaos worship, no matter how dire their predicament. Their weakness simply strengthened the foes of order, exchanging personal gain at the expense of Sigmar and their fellow humans.
An undulation in the mountainside gave way to reveal even more of Kurzengor’s environs. Long boulevards crept up the slope, radiating out from the more densely packed centre. Villas and manses lined these streets, their gardens long reclaimed by nature, family estates overrun by the wild once more.
Arkas recognised tombs also, some distance outside the city, but closer to the richer quarters than the mercantile inner city. They were like the cairns raised by his own people but far grander. Some were ziggurats of obsidian and marble and other exotic stone. Though distance obscured any detail, he could see plentiful statuary and small dome-roofed family shrines scattered among the larger memorials.
He stopped, taken aback by what he saw next. Angry muttering broke out from the Decimators around him until he silenced them with a barked command.
The rocks of the mountain had been carved in an age past, creating immense visages in the cleared stone. So vast were these faces that Arkas could see windows in their eyes, balconies and stairs formed by wrinkles in the skin, doorways hidden in folds of beard and hair.
The monuments had been both duardin and human, though most likely fashioned by the craft of the former. All seemed to be kings and queens, proud of expression, crowned helms on their heads.
Eight there had been, though one was almost nothing but bare rock, its remnants broken asunder by some shift in the earth in the intervening years. The others were marred by advanced age, but also by deliberate vandalism. Noses were chipped and broken, lips cracked, cheeks hollowed and ears removed.
The masonry that had been stolen had been put to a fresh purpose, built atop the central face. The design was crude, the construction showing much patching and improvisation, but the subject was all too clear. Horned and glowering, green flames burning in the gaps of its eyes, the mask of the Great Horned Rat stared down over the ruined city.
‘The account will be settled soon enough,’ Arkas told his incensed warriors. He raised his runeblade, the sigils etched into the weapon flickering in the light of the celestial storm. ‘We head for the realmgate. No more delays, no distractions. We win or we die.’
‘We win or we die!’ came the return shout.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sentries across the city looked up to the skies, baffled by the storm clouds swiftly gathering. They did not think to look towards the fire-lands, for what threat could possibly come from that direction? The first they knew of their coming doom was when flights of shining warriors descended from the storm on iridescent wings, accompanied by bolts of lightning hurtling down into the tumult of broken buildings and earthquake-twisted streets.
Brash war horns and warning drums sounded across the city, far too late.
The Retributors and Decimators led the advance on the ground, an armoured fist of white and blue aimed towards the heart of the city. Guided by the blazing storm of missiles overhead, they marched at speed through the deserted streets, the uniform tramp of boots ringing from the dead buildings, watched only by empty windows and doorways.
Theuderis rode with them to ensure that the breach into the skaven undercity proceeded exactly as planned. While his attack speared through Kurzengor, his officers would oversee the following sweep and occupation of the city. He glanced back to assure himself that Arkas was close behind – the turquoise plate of the Warbeasts reflecting the celestial energies roaring across the storm above.
The other conclaves were fanning out along the line of advance, moving forwards to engage any foe that threatened the flanks of the breaching force. Theuderis paid them no more mind, confident that they would acquit themselves as only Knights Excelsior could. His mind was bent towards the achievement of his own objective – attaining entry into the undercity.
As they crossed a star-shaped plaza, the wind changed, swirling from the right. A snarl from Tyrathrax warned Theuderis of something untoward.
‘Namazar!’ He bellowed the name of the nearest Protector-Prime. The Lord-Celestant angled his sword towards the tumbled remnants of what might have been an old trade exchange, guildhall or perhaps some kind of mint or treasury. Its colonnaded front had completely collapsed, but several statues of mercantile-looking folk could be seen amongst the debris. There were other stone figures, not on plinths, of Chaos warriors and beasts in various poses of combat or flight. Theuderis recognised the threat immediately. ‘Rearguard!’
The Protectors quickly peeled away after their Prime, a phalanx of glaives directed towards the rubble-strewn steps of the building. From the shadows of the main hall prowled an enormous beast – part cat, part lizard, its mane a nest of writhing vipers that hissed and spat. Its long tongue licked the air, tasting the presence of the intruders. Snarling, it bounded into a run, heading directly for the Protectors, baring teeth as sharp as any sword. In its wake, half-naked savages poured from the ruin, their hooting calls echoed by other warbands emerging from other nearby buildings. They were heavily scarred, pierced and tattooed, barely a patch of exposed skin not ornamented in some way. Screeching, waving bone and flint weapons, the troglodytic clansmen sprinted towards the block of waiting Stormcasts.
‘Keep on,’ Theuderis reminded his warriors. ‘Continue the advance.’
He watched as the monster leapt at the Protectors, its savage nature undaunted by the rows of points confronting it. Sigmarite blades cracked against scaled skin, piercing deep, slashing long gouges through the flesh. In turn its claws and fangs raked welts across the ivory armour of the Knights Excelsior. The beast landed, crushing a Protector beneath its bulk while its serpent-mane spat gobbets of saliva that hissed and bubbled on the plate of the Stormcast Eternal.
The Celestial Vindicators entered the plaza, breaking into a charge to sweep into the unprepared savages. Theuderis saw Arkas leading the attack, carving bloodily into the disorganised mobs with swift blows from his hammer and blade.
Soon the skirmish was out of sight, though the shouts of the Warbeasts and the screams of the Chaos-tainted followed the Lord-Celestant for some time.
The street pushed up towards a hilly outcrop ringed by broken walls, an overgrown orchard within. The road split to encircle the ground, but Theuderis ordered his men straight on. They vaulted the remnants of the wall and plunged through the thicket of undergrowth and twisted trees, snapping branches and trunks with their bulk to shoulder their way through. Surprised by the quiet of their passage, Theuderis examined his surrounds in more detail and saw that the trees grew green and brown feathers instead of leaves.
To one side, the remains of the great house whose gardens they violated leaned precariously on its footings, kept upright only by the tangled limbs and roots of immense trees bursting from one of its dilapidated wings. There were platforms and huts constructed in the upper reaches of both building and tree, but of the inhabitants there was no sign – perhaps they were sensible enough not to confront the armoured giants advancing through their domain.
The wall on the far side of the garden was still intact, until the lightning hammers of the Retributors made short work of its bricks and mortar. Bursting onto a cobbled road that swept down towards the central city, the Stormcast Paladins broke into an easy run, Tyrathrax loping alongside them, Theuderis in the saddle.
On one side, the city descended into a tangle of alleys and steps too tight for the Stormcasts to easily traverse. On the other, a succession of terraces climbed up the mountain, each level home to the decrepit remains of terraces and warehouses, stores, smithies, armouries and jewellers. The road angled away from the pits into the undercity. It was not the most direct route but it was still the swiftest.
Several times more they encountered scattered bands of Chaotic tribal warriors. Some were barely more than animals, like those they had first seen, while others were more organised, better armed and armoured. It made no difference. The Paladin Conclave cut through them all in turn, ruthless and efficient, driven on by Theuderis’ demand that there be no delays.
The few that survived this onslaught were little resistance to the Celestial Vindicators following behind. Those not cut down by the white-and-blue spear of the Knights Excelsior were crushed into oblivion by the hammer blow of Arkas’ force.
It was not only humans that tried to waylay them. In abandoned parks overrun by tides of beetles and spiders, and orchards with trees that grew eyeballs and bloody organs instead of fruits, beastmen and monsters had made their lairs. Theuderis did his best to avoid these, knowing that to become embroiled in an extended engagement would not only needlessly spend time, but might allow the gathering creatures to wholly surround them. The most desolate, broken areas he skirted around, staying to the wider avenues and squares where the enemy had to present themselves more openly.
Despite every effort, Theuderis was painfully aware of the growing light as the sun crept above the mountains. The skaven would have lookouts positioned, if only to guard against treachery from their subject-tribes and those clans still swearing allegiance to gods other than the Great Horned Rat.
How long would they take to muster a force?
Through a combination of evasive manoeuvres and brute strength, Theuderis’ Paladins carved a path for Arkas, on occasion smashing their way through buildings to forge the best route.
When the first rays of dawn shone on the many-coloured domes ahead, they were almost at the closest slave-pit, the opening into the skaven domain just a few streets away.
The way ahead was blocked. Stretching from one side of the road to the other was a wall four times as tall as a man, raised from stone and earth and reinforced with sharpened stakes and thick timbers. The buildings to either side were similarly fortified, crude ramparts built along rooftops, windows and doors barricaded.
A storm of arrows greeted the Knights Excelsior, raining down from the wall and surrounding heights. Theuderis led his warriors to the left, seeking a route around the obstruction. The next street was similarly blocked, and the next. Iron-tipped arrows clattered from armour and stone around him as he pulled Tyrathrax to a stop to assess the situation. For all that he could tell, the wall could stretch for a considerable distance.
He looked up and saw warriors in mail and leather scrambling over the roofs, bows and javelins in hand. On the wall armoured figures waited, waving axes and swords, their jeers echoing along the walled-off road. He had seen no sign of gate or bridge. A glance back towards the main street revealed the Celestial Vindicators approaching fast.
‘Up, my lord?’ suggested Elegias, the Retributor-Prime. He pointed to the closest building with his starsoul mace.
‘You have the right of it, Retributor.’ Theuderis stood in the saddle and pointed his blade towards the roofs. ‘We go over these wretches!’
The Paladins piled into the nearby buildings, crashing through boarded windows and doors, the light of their gleaming weapons shining through shutters and cracked walls. Theuderis rode along the road a little further, ignoring the occasional missile sparking from his armour and the moss-covered flags as he sought ingress for Tyrathrax. A few dozen paces on, a building had collapsed, a slump of rubble spilling down into the street. Assorted tools and containers showed that the tribe had been in the process of rebuilding the breach.
Tyrathrax sensed his intent and broke into a run, heading for the improvised ramp. Three bounding strides and a leap took them onto the roof of the adjoining townhouse, claws sending broken clay tiles skittering to smash on the street three storeys below.
From this point Theuderis could see how close he was to his objective. Barely a hundred paces beyond the wall, steps and wooden ramps led down into the slave pit.
The scale of the obstacle in front of him was also clear. The roofs and wall were thronged with foes, more of them spilling up from trapdoors and rope ladders like ants from an agitated nest. Warriors swelled by Chaos power, clad in thick armour plates, gathered in front of him, axes and shields held up, faceless helms staring at him in challenge.
Lifting his blade, point heavenwards, Theuderis drew down a bolt of celestial power. The lightning earthed along his weapon and crackled across his armour. Above, the storm clouds seemed to roil, swirling with their own energy.
Moments later, the Angelos Conclave burst into view. With Samat and the other Knights-Azyros at their head and Arkas’ Prosecutors alongside, they plummeted groundwards at blistering speed.
The tempest of fire from their weapons lashed along the roofs ahead of Theuderis. Lightning-wreathed javelins and flaming hammer-bolts tore into the Chaos warriors, slicing through armour, scorching the flesh within. Tiles, brick and slate exploded, jagged shards ripping through the marauders scrambling up stairwells and hauling themselves across rope bridges.
On and on the torrent came, slaying everything in the way of Theuderis’ charge. The blaze of celestial beacons shone in the morning gloom, the power of Sigmar’s light blinding and burning the impure. Chaos worshippers staggered, holding their hands to their faces, screeching and screaming as they toppled from the roofs in panic and desperation.
‘Onwards!’ roared Theuderis.
Tyrathrax charged, ripping up more roof tiles with every stride. Theuderis’ blade trailed purifying flame. Ahead, Prosecutors with blazing hammers descended onto the wall, the bodies of their foes smashed from the ramparts as they advanced. Behind, the Paladins of the Silverhands roared their battle cry and followed their Lord-Celestant into the fray.
‘For the glory of Sigmar!’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Silverhands cleared the enemy with astounding speed, but Arkas knew better than to waste time admiring their bloody work.
‘Straight on,’ he told his warriors, heading directly along the street to the wall across it. ‘Our turn will come soon enough.’
The Warbeasts surged between the fortified houses, trampling the dead and dying cast from the rooftops. Arkas threw himself the last few paces at the wall, driving the head of his hammer into the patchily mortared masonry. Dust sticking to the caked blood on his armour, he used the hammer to haul himself up, driving in his sword to form the next handhold. Around him his warriors ascended with equal speed, unchallenged now that the wall’s guardians were battling the winged heralds of Theuderis’ host.
In a few more heartbeats, Arkas dragged himself over the jagged crenellations and took a quick stock of the situation. To his left and right, his Prosecutors and the Knights Excelsior had sliced through the wall’s guardians, opening a breach for his group. The number of Chaos followers was quickly swelling though, a wave of twisted humanity building up against the line of Stormcast Eternals like water at a dam.
There was no time to waste.
He leapt down the far side of the wall, boots cracking the flagstones further with the impact. In a heartbeat he was off and running again, heading directly for the maze of walkways, steps, ropes and scaffold ahead. Beyond, the ground dropped away like a cliff.
A stream of wasted, unwashed humanity spilled from the gash in the world, some still struggling with shackles, chains and rope bindings, their bodies covered in sores and welts. They stared in dumb wonder at the Stormcast Eternals, unsure whether they were liberators or simply new masters. All of them had the touch of Chaos about them, Arkas noted, as he watched them scrambling and sprinting past – tiny horns, patches of discoloured or scaled skin, tails, claws, jagged teeth, disjointed limbs. For all that they had endured untold misery they were still tainted.
‘Leave them for our shining companions,’ Arkas barked as some of his warriors moved towards the pitiful wretches with hammers and axes ready. ‘We have a pressing appointment below.’
The pit was a ragged wound in the earth. It burrowed down at a steep angle, shelves of harder rock and ledges built of debris from the demolished city creating staging levels still littered with the corpses of slaves dead from exhaustion and starvation.
The rickety boards and ladders looked incapable of taking the weight of a Stormcast. Arkas chose to descend in swifter fashion, leaping towards the closest outcrop. He crashed through mould-slicked timbers onto the rock. From here he bounded to a ledge on the left, and then let himself drop down to another below.
His warriors followed, some tracing his route, some picking their own way down into the darkness. Though the opening of the pit had seemed large from the surface it soon dwindled into a pale oval above as they descended, and then disappeared to leave the only light the gleam of Azyr-forged weapons.
There were offshoot galleries and tunnels but Arkas ignored them. The scene from the vision was vivid in his memory, as deeply etched as if he had already been into the depths in person. He remembered the sound and sparkle of an underground river nearby. When they found that, they would have their route to the realmgate.
Down they went, down into the bowels of the mountain, leaving behind the scrapings and workings of the tribes above, into a nether-realm between the city of humans and the skaven undercity. Here the duardin ruins were still intact in places, giving the Celestial Vindicators bridges across the cracks in the world, straight-hewn passages and winding stairs to follow.
