Legends of the Age of Sigmar by Various

Author:Various
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2016-11-30T11:06:22+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Soul of the Hunter

Fires burned within the Dorsal Barbicans. Mortal men and women, newly freed and healed by the magics of the Stormcast Eternals, carried fire and blade into the dark, cleansing the ancient fortress of those lingering packs of skaven. Taka­takk watched them from the dome of the Libraria Vurmis. The mortal inhabitants of the Crawling City glowed with a pale amber light, and he could trace their lifelines back along the solid orange river of Shu’gohl’s existence. That river stretched back to the birth of the realm and forward, into the misty reaches of the future. Strands of infection threaded through that thick skein of existence – the lives of the vermin. Those strands grew thicker and then faded abruptly as they intersected with the cerulean threads of Azyr.

Takatakk nodded to himself, satisfied that things were progressing as Great Lord Kurkori had foreseen. Shu’gohl’s progress towards its ultimate end would continue unhindered. What part the great leviathan would play in those distant, yet-undreamed events, Takatakk did not know, but the Dreaming Constellation would see that it was around to do so.

Down below, the Stormcast Eternals made ready to march. They glowed with a flickering radiance that Takatakk found comforting, though strange. It was akin to the light which flared through the seraphon, and yet not – weaker, perhaps. The Stormcasts were yet merely memories-to-be, rather than memories-of-what-was. In time, perhaps, they would become as one with the light of Azyr – things of pure order, even as the seraphon were. But for now…

He heard the bellow of Zephacleas’ laughter, and thought, just for an instant, about the inevitable and the inexorable. Claws scraped on stone and he turned. Oxtl-Kor stood behind him. ‘They are too slow,’ the Oldblood growled. ‘The vermin will escape us.’

Takatakk cocked his head. ‘Great Lord Kurkori says–’

‘I know what he says, Starpriest,’ the Oldblood rumbled. He tapped his skull with a claw. ‘I hear his words in my blood as well as you. I will not fail. The stink of the vermin-spoor is strong, and Sawtooth’s belly is empty.’ He looked at their master, reclining on his throne. ‘His wishes are many, and all must be fulfilled, even the least of them. I follow the Dreaming Seer’s design, even as you do.’

The skink grunted. He clicked his jaw, uncertain. The plan stretched before him, but even he was not aware of every facet of its infinite complexity. He was but a conduit for the wisdom of his master, an extension of the Dreaming Seer’s will. To him fell the mundane responsibilities of battle, the guiding of the unruly along the predestined path. Oxtl-Kor was more unruly than some. ‘We will march for the great worm’s head. You must mark our path, O veteran of wars yet undreamt. Show us their trail,’ he chirped.

Oxtl-Kor grunted and turned to clamber back down the dome. Takatakk watched him rejoin his warriors, waiting below on the ramparts. He could subtly alter the outcome of a battle, or call forth the destructive energies of Azyr itself, but he could not change what was written.

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