Champions of the Mortal Realms (Warhammer Age of Sigmar) by Darius Hinks & Nick Horth & Evan Dicken & Robbie MacNiven

Author:Darius Hinks & Nick Horth & Evan Dicken & Robbie MacNiven [Hinks, Darius]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

EPILOGUE

The Grave of Heroes lay in ruins – the outer wall cracked in a dozen places, the gatehouse listing to one side and the central keep collapsed into the rusty ground. Even so, the sight made Hess content. With any luck, nothing of the daemon’s tomb had survived.

He half crawled, half limped up to the gatehouse. It had taken the better part of the afternoon to dig himself free of the rubble and shamble his way up the old Lantic Road. He had seen no sign of Schmidt apart from a long smear of blood across the face of one of the pitted boulders. Hess had not the strength to search; the priest was certainly dead – just like Hess should have been.

The gatehouse had partially fallen, the gate itself crushed beneath falling stone and metal, the entrance little more than a shallow cave speckled with jagged shardstorm debris. The sun was just dipping below the peaks, the pitted iron of the wall still warm from the day’s heat. It would get cold soon, but that was a problem for later.

For now, it just felt good to sit.

There was a scrape from the shadows inside the gatehouse, boots on stone. Hess half turned to see Schmidt shuffle into the light. Any surprise he felt at the priest’s survival was eclipsed by the site of the woman’s injuries. The priest looked as bad as Hess felt, her face a mass of bruises, her breastplate gone, one arm bound to her chest in a makeshift sling, and a nasty-looking slash running up her thigh.

‘You survived.’ Schmidt put no weight on her injured leg, hopping over to slump down against the wall across from Hess.

Hess shrugged, then winced at a flare of pain from his wounds. ‘Just lucky, I guess.’

‘Luck?’ Schmidt snorted. ‘That was a damned miracle. The explosion should have torn us apart.’

‘I suppose Sigmar must still have plans for us.’ Hess swallowed, unsettled by a growing sense of apprehension he was not able to properly articulate. As if in response to some unnatural signal, he noticed for the first time an odd weight inside his shirt. Snaking a hand inside, he withdrew a small bag, its contents clinking softly in his grip.

Strange, he didn’t remember retrieving his medals.

‘Think you’ll earn another battle honour for this, captain?’ Schmidt’s throaty chuckle descended into a series of rasping coughs.

Hess regarded the sack. If word got out he had helped destroy a daemon it would mean more than a parade. Khir would have no choice but to give him his company back. Better, it would put the lord marshal in the awkward position of either appearing like a fool for banishing Hess, or having to claim it had been his plan all along. The latter would certainly need Hess’ active participation, which would give him quite a bit of leverage over Khir – enough perhaps for the lord marshal to give Hess his own command.

Hess’ thoughts spun at the possibilities, or perhaps it was just the blood loss.

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