ARCHAON

The End Times - Volume V

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 So soon the hour of fate comes around.
The Everchosen stirs from his dark
throne, and prepares the blow that shall
split the world asunder. Realms of old
are fallen, lost beneath the fury of the
northlands, or smothered by the vermin
from below. Some heroes battle on, too
stubborn to recognise that all hope is lost.
Their time is past, a new age of Chaos
and dismay beckons. Perhaps I am foolish
also, for I fight with no hope of victory.
I seek only to weaken the Dark Gods,
to shake their hold upon the future.
No other course remains; not to mortals,
nor to the divine.

These are the End Times.

 THE BRINK OF DOOM
The world is ending. Civilisation to the Empire’s defence, for their Vortex. He sought to bind each of
collapses, assailed by creatures of own realm is long past salvation. the winds of magic to a mortal host
madness and decay. Ancient cities Alongside the Bretonnians fight and thus create Incarnates – mortal
have been cast down, their defenders Ungrim Ironfist and an army of champions infused with magical
slaughtered or driven to live like dispossessed dwarfs, driven from the power fit to challenge the gods
beasts in the wild. The dead cannot Worlds Edge Mountains by the skaven themselves. Alas, treachery and ill
be counted. Those who survive stare onslaught. Alone amongst their kind, fortune soured Teclis’ plan. Only two
into a future bereft of hope, and these dwarfs forsake safety in favour Incarnates arose amongst the elves.
curse the fate that led them here. And of honouring the age-old alliance Malekith became the Incarnate of
everywhere, crude tongues chant with the Empire. Thorgrim, High King Shadow, and Alarielle the Incarnate
praise to the Chaos Gods, whose of Karaz-a-Karak, could perhaps of Life.
victory is at last nigh. have brought unity to the dwarfs and
salvation to men, but he has been The other winds, lost to Teclis’ grasp,
Across the world, the skaven have dead these many months, slain by sought hosts amongst other races.
risen. The ratmen come in their an assassin’s blade. Those who fight Shyish, the Wind of Death, had
uncounted millions, a tide of writhing beneath Ungrim Ironfist’s banner been stolen by Nagash long before
vermin that consumes all in its path. do not do so out of expectation of Teclis broke the vortex. With its
No land is safe from the swarm. Petty victory. They seek only a glorious power, the Great Necromancer has
kingdoms are consumed overnight; death before the last darkness falls. transformed the land of Sylvania into
ancient realms are shattered. The And death, glorious or otherwise, is a true kingdom of the dead, as much
temple-cities of Lustria have fallen, the only guarantee. a land of myth as mortal reality.
the fate of their masters unknown. In his arrogance, Nagash believes
The holds of the dwarfs are all but himself mighty enough to outlive the
overrun, those that remain sealed End Times, to challenge the Chaos
shut in an act of desperate defiance. Gods alone if need be. The power
of heavens gave fresh strength to
The hordes of Archaon Everchosen Karl Franz during the fall of Altdorf,
have marched from the wild north, just as the wild magics of fire lent
have drowned the Old World in Ungrim Ironfist the resolve to survive
blood and fire. The Empire is all the ruin of the dwarfs. The power of
but vanquished, its cities cast Chamon – gold magic – could perhaps
down, its greatest fortresses torn have saved the life of Thorgrim
asunder. Altdorf is a festering ruin, Grudgebearer, but the old king was
Talabheim a scorched waste. Even too stubborn to embrace its changing
Middenheim, famed City of the White There will be no help from the elves. form. Chamon was set loose by his
Wolf, has fallen to the Everchosen’s Naggaroth has fallen to Khorne’s rage, death, and remains masterless to
hordes. Middenheim is Archaon’s its blood-slicked stones now little this day. The fate of Ghur – the Wind
proudest conquest, for its capture is more than the haunt of cannibals. of Beasts – is unknown, save that it
a humiliation to Sigmar, the warrior- Ulthuan is gone, shattered by magic travelled far into the east.
god of the Empire. Yet Archaon’s and lost to the swirling waters of the
victory is not complete. It will only Great Ocean. Those elves who remain Yet Teclis has not abandoned hope.
be so when the fugitive Emperor is now dwell in Athel Loren, ruled by Thought dead by his people, he
slain and Averheim, last of the Old Malekith, the Eternity King, and the wanders the world, seeking a suitable
World’s great cities, is cast down. Everqueen Alarielle. The elves do not champion to bear the power of Light
The Emperor knows this and prepares doubt that the Rhana Dandra – the he carries within his staff. That
Averheim for what may be its final Last War Against Chaos – is upon champion, or so Teclis believes, will
stand. What remains of the Empire’s them, and make what preparations unite the other Incarnates – even
strength shelters behind the city’s they can. Nagash – and repel the forces of the
sturdy walls. Chaos Gods once and for all. Teclis
Prophecy tells that the Rhana Dandra alone believes that the Rhana Dandra
The men of the Empire do not fight cannot be won, but the elves dare to can be won. It remains to be seen if
alone. The remaining knights of challenge their destiny. Teclis, their he is correct.
Bretonnia gladly lend their lances greatest loremaster, unmade the Great

4 | The End Times

‘S alutations, Everchosen.’
The two-headed daemon’s tone was laden with
mockery, his pronunciation as stilted and uneven as
‘This is no prophecy. It is water already flowed. The
river of fate is not altered simply because you have not
felt its ripples. Would you have me reveal how your
his bow. Kairos Fateweaver aped the mannerisms of a battles end?’ Fateweaver continued slyly. ‘There are
supplicant, but Archaon knew that the daemon believed many yet to come, and they do not all unfold according
himself the master. to your wishes.’
Armoured plates scraped upon bone as the warlord ‘That is the fate of all warriors. I accept it. But you did
stirred from contemplation and settled his gaze upon the not truly answer my question: is your master offended
intruder. Archaon’s throne was built upon the shattered by my course?’
ruin of Ulric’s high altar, and fashioned from the bones ‘He remains content, though I cannot speak for
of its priests. his brothers.’ The daemon’s tone became hushed,
The granite chamber lay heavily in shadow, but not conspiratorial. ‘However, a wise man would strive to
so much so that Archaon could not make out the shapes keep them entertained.’
of his knights standing in silent attendance. The Swords ‘Then entertainment they shall have.’ Archaon
of Chaos’ pitch-black armour drank in the light, leaving intoned. ‘The hour of deception is past. Now is the time
patches of darkness deeper than a man’s innermost for murder.’
fears. Not that Archaon had feared anything for several Archaon let loose a mighty cry, ripping the Slayer
lifetimes of lesser men. of Kings free from its scabbard as he did so. The
Once, the chamber had been given warmth and light Everchosen took satisfaction from the momentary
by Ulric’s sacred fire. That callow flame had been confusion in Fateweaver’s eyes, heard the panicked
no more divine than the acrid torches set about the squawk of alarm.
chamber’s perimeter. Ulric was a lie, just as Sigmar The Slayer of Kings’ jagged edge sliced deep into one
was a lie. By seizing Middenheim, Archaon had proven of the daemon’s twin skulls. Thick, sickly blood sprayed
the former. When the Empire was naught but ashes, he from the wound, and Fateweaver screeched in pain. The
would prove the latter. screech deepened into a scream of anger, and squealing
The daemon shuffled his gangling form towards the light began to coalesce around the daemon’s hands as
throne, heedless of the warriors standing guard, and he prepared a spell.
careful that his feathered wings didn’t trail in the pool of The response was too slow, as Archaon had known
blood dug into the chamber’s centre. it would be. His backswing severed the daemon’s
The blood spat and bubbled as if heated from below remaining head. It bounced once on the gore-slicked
– which it was not – and gore-steam eddied and flowed flagstones, and fell into the pool behind. At once, the
inches above the surface. Above, hung from the ancient blood began to froth and seethe.
rafters like poultry in a poacher’s hovel, were scores Archaon smiled beneath his three-eyed helm and
of blackened corpses, whose blood had long since planted the sole of an armoured boot against the
poured into the pool below. Every one of the bodies was headless body tottering in front of him. Then, with
headless, and their naked skulls had been added to the a mighty heave, he kicked the remains of Kairos
Everchosen’s throne. Fateweaver into the blood pool.
‘What business have you here, daemon?’ Archaon The frothing fluid rose to meet the corpse, hissing and
rumbled as Fateweaver drew closer. spitting like a vile caldera. Fateweaver’s body vanished,
The creature cackled. ‘My master wishes to know why and thick steam rose up from the bubbling liquid. A
the Lord of the End Times takes his ease when victory is shadow, black against scarlet, gathered beneath the
so near.’ pool’s surface. It rose quickly, blood streaming from its
Archaon rose to his feet. Not hurriedly, for that vast, leathery wings and hunched, slab-muscled hide.
would have been a subtle betrayal of weakness, but The Bloodthirster stepped from the pool, the
with a regal and ominous steadiness. ‘You question my chamber’s torches guttering as it unfurled its mighty
commitment?’ he asked darkly. wings. Archaon felt the hot, angry wind of the creature’s
The daemon’s heads twitched briefly from side to side breath as it loomed over him, felt the undeniable aura of
before answering. ‘Not I. It is my master, the Changer power that it exuded. Yes, he thought, this one would do
of the Ways, Weaver of All Fates who questions. He well indeed.
perceives all the swirling colours of your innermost ‘The Lord of Skulls is pleased by your sacrifice,’ the
thoughts. You do not fight for the gods, but to avenge daemon growled in a voice like thunder. ‘Ka’Bandha of
wounded pride.’ the third host serves you. Whom do we slay?’
‘And this offends him?’ Archaon did not reply at first, savouring his mastery
‘My master is content to wait. You will bow before over the Bloodthirster. This was his hour. He would not
him, ere long. I have seen it.’ be rushed by some thrall of the gods.
‘And your prophecies are never wrong.’ ‘Everyone,’ he said at last. ‘We will slaughter them all.’

The End Times | 5

6 | The End Times
CHAPTER 1
Honour and Death
Spring 2528
 Averheim stood alone. a little more than two moons. A The ratmen had achieved many
Of a once-mighty Empire, seething tide of ratmen and chanting victories in the preceding months, had
it was the only city northlanders ebbed and flowed about dominated or destroyed lesser realms
that remained. True, its walls, testing the defences at every to the Empire’s south and west. Even
there were isolated villages as yet opportunity, careless of the lives they in the Empire itself they had met with
unravaged by the tide of Chaos or the lost. Once, the walls had been girdled vicious success – until they had come
predations of skaven, but these were by a series of concentric moats, but to Averheim, at least.
scattered, their inhabitants scarcely no more. Now the ditches were so
able to defend themselves. Amidst the clogged with rotting dead that not Averheim’s garrison were veterans.
ruins of a nation shattered by war, even the sharpest eye could spy their Most had marched hundreds of
only Averheim remained defiant. vanished contours. leagues, had fought dozens of battles
just to reach the city’s tenuous safety.
A lesser fortress would have fallen Most of the crow-pecked dead were They were not about to yield without
long ago – indeed, many had – but skaven. For centuries, they had a fight. Men of ten provinces fought
Averheim was a city forged by war. been the stuff of legend and rumour, upon its ramparts, their rivalries and
The settlement itself dated back to their existence seldom believed by hatreds forgotten out of a desperate
before the time of Sigmar. It had the common folk of the Empire, but need for survival. Stirland huntsmen
endured the intervening centuries now the ratmen had risen in force. loosed their shots alongside the
with honour, and bore its scars They attacked almost every day, a famed marksmen of Nuln, militiamen
with pride. Though Averheim had rippling and chittering sea that hurled of Talabecland and Ostermark put
been sacked many times, by orcs, itself across the field of rotting dead. aside their territorial differences and
undead and worse, the Averburg Ramshackle war machines sparked fought as brothers. But it was not
at its heart had never fallen. Even and flared as the swarm advanced, only the men of the Empire who held
Gorbad Ironclaw had failed to flinging sorcerous lightning and Averheim: old enemies and older allies
humble the Averburg, and the pillar plague-infused shot against the walls battled upon those walls with as
of skulls raised in testament to that as they searched for a weakness that much fervour as Sigmar’s heirs.
failure still stood in the centre of they could exploit.
the Plenzerplatz. Moreover, with On the north wall, where the
each defeat, the shrewd engineers Day after day, no weakness was battlement was almost as broad as
of Averheim built their walls a little found. Handguns coughed and the River Aver, the skaven emerged
taller, a little stronger. Before the helblasters roared, the fortress of onto what seemed an empty stretch
fall of Altdorf, the city had been Averheim bellowing defiance at its of wall, until trumpetsong split the
as impenetrable as the artifice of tormentors. Cannonballs carved air and Duke Jerrod led the surviving
Sigmar’s heirs could make it. Now bloody furrows in the advancing knights of Bretonnia into the fray.
it was an obstacle many times more ranks, shells tossed broken corpses These knights knew that their
fearsome, for it owed as much to high into the air. Imperial marksmen homeland was lost, ravaged beyond
dwarf-work as mannish. searched for the lacquered armour redemption by plague, treason and
and drab palanquins of warlords, the rampaging hordes. Nonetheless, they
The Averburg, the fortress that whip-crack of their bullets clear even fought on as the lady demanded,
loomed above the city like a wrathful over the tumult of battle. determined to make Bretonnia’s last
taskmaster, was more modern than strength count for something.
the city it defended. Its foundations Perhaps half of the assaults ended
had been laid by Siggurd, Averland’s in a skaven retreat long before To the east, where the tide of skaven
first elector count, and it too had ratmen even reached the walls, the was ever at its thickest, the stark
been expanded and improved as the attackers’ bravado broken by the banners of dwarfs hung stiffly
centuries flowed by. Now the Averburg slaughter heaped upon them. At other alongside those of men. Though the
was a city unto itself, its battlements times, grapnels of rope, chain and dwarfs spoke little of the fate that
bristling with outrigger towers, knotted skin brought the verminous had driven them to Averheim’s walls,
artillery batteries and fiendishly tide against the ramparts, and bitter their mannish allies understood that
designed breastworks that channelled melees erupted amongst the bulwarks the holds of the Worlds Edge had
attackers into a hail of lead shot and of pale stone. suffered a great tragedy. Like Duke
cannon-fire. Jerrod’s knights, the dwarfs fought at
Yet those skaven who reached the Averheim more out of defiance than
These defences had been tested broad fire steps of the city walls found from any hope of restoring their own
many times in the preceding weeks. their situation little improved from kingdoms. Most had taken the oath of
Averheim had been besieged for the blood-sodden morass below. the slayer, their dyed hair vivid even

8 | Chapter 1
through the battle’s smoke, and many northlanders surged forward in the
of them met the glorious deaths they ratmen’s wake. Their warmaster was
longed for. a shrewd foe. He cared nothing for
skaven lives, but he refused to waste
Assault by assault, the skaven were his own forces in a doomed assault
hurled from the walls, but never against an unbreached wall. When
without cost. In ones and twos, Averheim’s stones were opened even
dozens and scores, the defenders a chink, however, that was another
died. No matter that each was but a matter. Before the dust had settled,
mote compared to the heinous losses the grim-armoured warbands of the
inflicted upon the foe, for Averheim Chaos Wastes were on the march,
had little hope of reinforcement, their bleak war-songs echoing against
and the besieging horde grew daily. the beleaguered walls.
Worse, when the skaven withdrew –
indeed, sometimes even before they One such attack levelled a great
had done so – the bombardment stretch of the city’s eastern wall.
began once again. Hundreds of men and dwarfs
perished amidst the tumbling stones.
Since the very first, Averheim Thousands more shed blood at
had been ringed by batteries of the resulting breach, driving back
hellcannons. Day after day, night after the skaven and holding the Chaos
night, they belched tainted fire against horde in abeyance. That had been
the city walls, reducing buildings to the closest battle to date, for the
rubble, granaries to worthless char Chaos warmaster himself marched
and packed garrisons to charnels of in the forefront. He was a brute of
scorched meat. White stone blistered a man in brilliant azure armour, his
and blackened where the unholy shot mutated twin-bodied form ever-lit
struck the walls, flesh twisted and by a flickering flame. This was Vilitch
writhed. Averheim’s cannons duelled the Curseling, and from the very first
with the vile machines, sending he had been determined to seize
roundshot after roundshot thundering Averheim as his prize.
towards the city’s tormentors, gouging
great seeping wounds in the machine- Daemonfire flowed from Vilitch’s
beasts’ flanks. Yet few of the siege fingers like water from a mountain
engines were slain. Brilliant pink fires spring. None could stand before
glowed against the sky as northlander him, and those who tried to do
sorcerers fed the monstrosities with so ended their days in agony as
magic. Screams erupted as stunted mutation rippled through their blazing
handlers goaded columns of slaves – bodies. The last surviving Knights
sometimes ratmen, mostly humans of the Everlasting Light perished
captured from beleaguered Averland on that breach, near four-score
– into the hellcannons’ gaping maws. battle-hardened warriors reduced to
Stoked with sorcery and flesh, the mewling and blood-weeping wretches
daemons’ wounds swiftly healed, and at Vilitch’s twisted hand. The dwarfs
before long Averheim’s cannoneers fared little better, and the banners
were forbidden from wasting shot of Zhufbar flickered into ash as the
against them. heavy blades of Vilitch’s vanguard
hacked through gromril armour. As
Every few days, the hellcannon the black-armoured northlanders
bombardment brought down a crunched over the rubble and into
section of Averheim’s outer wall, Averheim’s streets, three regiments of
and at these times the city’s fate Talabheimer militia – who until that
rested on a knife’s edge. As the white moment had thought themselves the
stones tumbled, the skaven came reserve – came forward with Sigmar’s
again, squealing and chittering at name upon their lips, even knowing
the thought of plunder. Worse, the they had little chance of victory.
 The hour was rescued from disaster – which had anchored itself within the skaven rush – though not before
only by the arrival of Averheim’s those same runes. Ungrim was now the Axe of Dargo had shivered the
greatest champions. The Emperor’s a living force of destruction, his Verminlord’s monstrous spine.
coming was heralded by Deathclaw’s blood ever hot for battle. Fire danced
deafening screech. The griffon across the Axe of Dargo with every Thus ended one tale of Averheim’s
dove from the skies at terrifying disembowelling swing, and his battle defiance against fearsome odds. Yet
speed, talons scything through cry was a torrent of living flame. Long there would be many more before the
the northlanders’ shield wall. had Ungrim yearned to be free of his siege was done, each one inked in the
Lightning arced from the Emperor’s king’s oath, that he might embrace defenders’ blood.
outstretched fingers, a hammer the slayer’s calling. Karak Kadrin had
blazing glorious cerulean in his hand fallen, but Ungrim was yet bound by The battle of the eastern wall was the
as he smote Vilitch’s minions. The duty. The alliance between Empire first time Vilitch had caught sight of
Emperor’s intervention had bought and dwarfs was an ancient one, and the Emperor since his rebirth. In the
the Talabheimers respite, and they the Slayer King could not put his weeks that followed, the warmaster
came forward behind him, ignoring own desires ahead of an ally’s needs. was careful never to risk himself
their mounting dead. Whilst one corner of the Empire yet so recklessly as he had done that
stood, Ungrim Ironfist was sworn to day. Mighty though Vilitch was, he
All knew that Karl Franz had emerged defend it. There was glory of a sort in recognised that the Emperor and
from the ruins of Altdorf a changed that purpose, but still the ranklement Ungrim now commanded power
man, though few knew the cause of destiny denied added extra weight far superior to his own, and had
or form of his transformation. The to every blow. no intention of losing his life by
defenders of Averheim cared not. confronting them directly – not when
They saw only the power of Sigmar Caught between fire and lightning – he had the lives of worthless minions
mantled upon his shoulders, and between the rekindled hope of man yet to expend.
with it the answer to their desperate and the unbridled rage of the dwarfs
prayers. Left and right he struck, and – Vilitch’s assault crumbled. A few Daemons were summoned by sacrifice
northlander plate shattered under score northlanders fought on, lost in and set loose against the walls, but
every blow. Lightning crackled and the vicious joy of battle, but most cast warrior priests came forth to banish
spat wherever the hammer struck aside sword and shield and fled to the them. The Changeling, who not so
home, each blow a foe’s death knell. brooding safety of the siege camps. very long ago had nearly ended
Before Altdorf’s fall, many had Vilitch ran with them. His personal Karl Franz’s life, was torn from the
thought Karl Franz only a statesman, champion, the bearer of the glorious Forge of Souls by Vilitch’s magic,
not a true warrior. They did not think moon-crested standard, had been and directed to infiltrate the city
so now. reduced to a blackened husk by a bolt and complete the task. However, the
of lightning, and Vilitch had no desire Emperor was keener of sight and
It was too broad a span for the to share his fate. wisdom than he had been before. The
Emperor to hold alone, but there was Changeling’s shape-shifting could no
no need for him to do so. Ungrim As the northlanders retreated, the longer conceal his purpose, and the
Ironfist, commander of Averheim’s skaven came forward again. The daemon was pulped by a blow from
dwarf contingent, had marked the Verminlord who led them was brazen the Emperor’s hammer mere moments
assault and moved to counter it. in the belief that the ratmen could after the Emperor set eyes upon him.
Slayers flooded into the streets, triumph where Vilitch’s warriors
their death songs drowning out the had failed. Averheim could still have Day by day, week by week, the
northlanders’ harsh chants. Then fallen, there and then, were it not stalemate continued. Each morn, the
there were dwarfen axes cleaving for the combined ingenuity of dwarf Emperor and Deathclaw flew far and
Chaos plate, and the defenders began engineers and wizards of the Light wide about Averheim, hoping for sight
to reclaim lost ground. College. As the skaven pressed close, of allies come to break the siege, but
the wizards harnessed the wind Hysh there were none to be seen. No other
Ungrim had endured a transformation to their service. Guided by canny could have braved those skies, for
not dissimilar to that which had swept dwarf eyes, the wizards swept up flocks of daemonic furies constantly
over Karl Franz. Months ago, he had the fallen stones of the eastern wall, soared upon the thermals, searching
laid hands upon the runes carved into and fused them into a formidable for prey. The cowardly creatures
the Shrine of Grimnir, and welcomed bastion once again. The new wall would have torn other foes to shreds,
his ancestor’s spirit into his soul. At was not so strong, nor so fiendishly but they dared not challenge the living
the same time, he had unknowingly wrought as the one that had stood in lightning, and so left the Emperor and
embraced Aqshy – the Wind of Fire its place before, but it served to check his mount unassailed.

10 | Chapter 1
Within Averheim, rations were grumbled about the inferior quality of Then, one chill spring morning,
halved, and halved again in an manling powder, and the poor calibre everything changed. As Karl Franz
effort to make the supplies go of the cannonballs, but they employed made his dawn flight into the fury-
further. Hunger became a constant both to wicked effect all the same. infested skies, he saw the outriders of
companion, though the dwarfs never a vast army snaking their way down
seemed to want for ale. A score Incredibly, morale within the walls the old dwarf road. For a moment, he
of Middenlanders, driven mad by remained high. The men of the Empire entertained the possibility that these
privation, turned to feasting upon the took faith that Karl Franz, Sigmar’s might at last be allies, come to rescue
bodies of their slain comrades. The true heir, fought at their side. It could Averheim from its plight. But as he
Emperor ordered the wretches put only be a matter of time, they said, drew closer, nothing could disguise
to death when he learned of it, for before he led them to victory and the army’s true nature. Daemons
he knew that no trace of physical or vengeance. For their part, the dwarfs shuffled and leapt amongst its ranks,
mental corruption could be tolerated battled on with quiet stoicism, each sonorous drums boomed in time to
if the city were to endure. ever ready to weave a tale of worse the snatches of war-song carried on
privations if a comrade complained the breeze, and on every banner and
Ammunition was seldom in short about his lot. Duke Jerrod and his shield was the eight-pointed star
supply. Famously mad though Marius knights retreated into a spiritual of Chaos. Northward the Emperor
Leitdorf may have been, he had asceticism, eating little and spending flew, urging Deathclaw skyward to
learned to place his faith in black the lulls between fighting in fervent avoid searching eyes. The oncoming
powder; the Averburg was nothing prayer. Some amongst the Imperial army stretched for leagues along the
less than a single vast magazine soldiery mocked their strangeness, dwarf road. It was a nation on the
of shells and bullets. Indeed, he but never after witnessing the march, aimed like a spear against
had often declared that there were Bretonnians in battle. They were beset Averheim. In the horde’s centre,
sufficient reserves within the Averburg wholly unlike the flagellants of the a column of knights rode beneath a
to hold out until the end of the world. Empire, who overcame their foes with many-coloured banner, a gold-helmed
That boast had been on many other rampant zeal. Instead, the knights warlord at their head. The Emperor
lips when the siege began, though few became ever more focused in battle, knew at once that this was no mere
repeated it now the end of the world a locus of eerie silence amongst the chieftain, but the self-declared Lord of
seemed a lot closer than it had before. tumult which in no way lessened the the End Times, of whom rumour had
Nevertheless, each assault was met by tithe of unclean creatures they reaped spoken so often.
hails of shot and shellfire that scarcely for their blessed Lady.
dipped into the seemingly bottomless Thus, on his return to Averheim, the
reserves. The dwarfs might have Emperor summoned a council of
war, and unveiled a desperate plan.
Archaon’s horde would be at the
walls before the week was out, and
Averheim’s defences would soon after
be swept aside. But, the Emperor told
his allies, he had seen no hellcannons
amongst oncoming horde. If the
defenders could sally forth and
destroy the siege engines that yet
ringed the city, then there was still a
chance that the walls would hold.
 THE ARMY OF SIGMAR
Nothing unites the Empire so swiftly as invoking Sigmar’s name. Following the fall of Altdorf, the Emperor let it
be known that every battle henceforth would be fought beneath Sigmar’s stern gaze. No longer was this a war
for survival, fought between mortal men, but one where the gods themselves would strive against one another.

THE EMPEROR
Karl Franz had ever been an inspiration to his troops, but never more so than
following his near-death at Altdorf. Indeed, many soldiers remarked at how
their Emperor was stronger and hardier than he had been before, a warrior
fit to unmake the devastation wrought by Chaos. Many a fable told that a
Champion of Light arose each time the hordes spilled from the north, and
many believed Karl Franz to be that champion. None knew that their Emperor’s
newfound might stemmed from the Wind of Azyr, released upon the Great
Vortex’s destruction. They saw only an heir of Sigmar, wielding the heavenly
power of the Heldenhammer’s birthright.

LUDWIG SCHWARZHELM
Schwarzhelm was an old man by the time Averheim was brought under siege,
and he felt much older. The Empire he had known and loved for more than six
decades was all but gone, his allies and rivals within the Imperial Court food
for the worms. Yet there was strength in the old dog yet, and determination to
see this last campaign to its end. Schwarzhelm swore long ago that he would
keep the Emperor safe from harm – a duty he accounted himself as having
failed at Heffengen, and more recently at Altdorf. As the sortie to Bolgen began,
Schwarzhelm was determined to fail no more: he would fight at the Emperor’s
side until death claimed him.

CAPTAIN MATTHIAS CORBER

Until Kislev fell to the northlanders, Matthias Corber was little more
than a brigand, working the Erengrad–Salkalten road. Desperate times
make for strange bedfellows, however, and the war drove Corber into
the ranks of Valmir von Rauken’s outriders, and thence to Averheim,
in the service of Karl Franz. Corber has never spoken of what changed
his loyalties. However, the survivors of his robber band – all of whom
ride to war alongside him – believe that the cataclysm has awoken a
nobler side of their leader’s nature. Some amongst them respect this;
most don’t care, so long as the coin and ale still flow.

THE CARROBURG GREATSWORDS

Always a regiment of great renown, the Carroburg Greatswords have
proved their reputation time and again since Altdorf’s fall. When
Carroburg itself came under siege, they hacked their way clear through
the encircling beastman hordes. In the weeks that followed, they led
the keep’s garrison on a long and dangerous march across the skaven-
infested provinces of Reikland and Talabecland, until finally arriving
at Averheim just days before the siege began. Only half of those who
struck out from Carroburg remain, but their determination is now
as steely as the blades after which they are named. The legend of
Carroburg is far from done.

12 | Chapter 1
 Karl Franz Ascendant

Ludwig Schwarzhelm

Egrig Schuler,
Marshal of the Reiksguard
Grand Master

Erich Falstrom, Astromancer to

the Court of Luitpold
Wizard Lord

Matthias Corber
Captain

Heinroth Grimm
Captain

Marek Zimm
Witch Hunter

THE KNIGHTS GRIFFON

The Reiksguard
The Knights Griffon were founded in the wake of the last Great War against One brotherhood of
Chaos, a fact that hung heavily on each brother who rode to battle at the Reiksguard Knights
Emperor’s side. Tasked with defending Sigmar’s shrines in the capital, they
had singularly failed to do so. Now the knights sought to erase their shame by The Knights Griffon
proving themselves every bit the Reiksguard’s equal. This unspoken challenge One brotherhood of
did not go entirely unnoticed by the knights of the Reiksguard, who saw it Demigryph Knights
merely as an extension of the long-running rivalry between the two orders.
The Carroburg Greatswords
One regiment of Greatswords

Corber’s Bordermen
One company of Outriders,
one company of Pistoliers

The Griffon Legion

One regiment of Greatswords

The Bulls of Salkalten

One company of Halberdiers with
two detachments of Handgunners

THE GRIFFON LEGION

In addition to the soldiery of Altdorf and the Reikland – all of whom owed him
direct loyalty – the Emperor also had a personal bodyguard of several thousand
soldiers, paid for out of his own, not inconsiderable, wealth. Though looked
down upon as overpaid, gilded mercenaries by the militiamen of Altdorf, the
Griffon Legion was as fine a body of soldiery as any to be found in the Imperial
states. Though much of the Griffon Legion was destroyed during Altdorf’s fall,
several regiments of greatswords escaped southwards with the Emperor, to
continue the fight from Averheim’s walls.

Chapter 1 | 13
 THE LEGION OF FLAME
Vilitch the Curseling had hoarded his power and influence for many a decade. By the time he brought the city
of Averheim to siege, the Twisted Twin commanded a horde almost as vast as the one that had sacked Altdorf.
Caution had kept Vilitch from achieving his goals thus far, but with Archaon’s imminent arrival the Curseling
had grown bolder.

VILITCH THE CURSELING

The sorcerer known as the Twisted Twin was actually two brothers, merged as
one. Thomin was muscular and brutish, but mindless since the transformation;
Vilitch had all the wits the brothers had once shared, as well as total control
of their conjoined form. Always believing himself superior to the other
northlanders, Vilitch had twice challenged Archaon, and paid greatly both
times. When the End Times had loomed, Vilitch led his horde of Fireborne
south, only to suffer a setback in the form of a bullet fired from a Hochland long
rifle. Fortunately for the sorcerer, the shot had struck home in Thomin’s vacant
skull – a small inconvenience at worst.

THE AZURE PRINCES

Most sorcerers are wary of taking on apprentices to their dark arts, lest
treachery from their students curtail their lives in spectacular fashion. Not
so Vilitch, who deemed that a vast coven of acolytes increased his standing
in Tzeentch’s eyes. Perhaps that was true, for certainly the Great Sorcerer’s
servants sent frequent warnings to ensure that Vilitch was never taken entirely
unprepared. Though each of the Azure Princes knew but a fraction of the
sorcerous lore known to their master, together their power rivalled that of one
of the fallen Colleges of Magic. Or, rather, it would have done had Vilitch not
spent their lives so carelessly in the months of siege. At Bolgen, only six of the
Azure Princes remained alive.

THE FIREBORNE
Vilitch had never been one to inspire loyalty in his followers, but
equally he had never been a leader overly concerned with acquiring
that precious commodity. Many of the warbands that marched
under his banner were enthralled to his command by sorcery,
forbidden from deed or action without his leave. None were so
tightly bound as the Fireborne, who had been one of the Curseling’s
first conquests. Years of arcane control had left the Fireborne utterly
unable to act for themselves, even when Vilitch wished otherwise.
Nevertheless, their skills in battle were still sharp, so their dull-
wittedness concerned the Twisted Twin not one jot.

THE CROWFANE HORDE

A tribe of the Kurgan, the Crowfane had initially followed
Vilitch to war under the suspect auspices of an ensorcelled
chieftain, Eirak Redmane. By the time of Redmane’s death
during a skirmish across the Helreach, Vilitch’s leadership
had brought the Crowfane so much plunder that the
partnership continued. However, it had not gone entirely
unnoticed by the chieftains of the Crowfane that Vilitch’s
horde was bleeding itself dry against Averheim’s stout walls.
By the time of the Emperor’s sortie, rumours of a challenge
were rumbling about the Crowfane Horde’s watchfires.

14 | Chapter 1
 Vilitch the Curseling
Adroch, First Amongst the Azure
Chaos Sorcerer Lord

Veredon, Second Amongst

the Azure
Chaos Sorcerer

Borath, Third Amongst the Azure

Chaos Sorcerer

Gast, Narak and Tievoth,

Aspiring Amongst the Azure
Chaos Sorcerers

The Fireborne
Two warbands of Chaos Warriors,
SONS OF STORMDARK one warband of Chosen
Archaon was many things, but no fool. He knew that Vilitch would attempt to
The Crowfane Horde
seize his destiny as Everchosen, and knew also that the best way to prevent Three hordes of Chaos Marauders,
that occurrence was to have eyes within the Curseling’s camp. The Sons of two hordes of Marauder Horsemen,
Stormdark were the latest in a long line of such spies. Ordered to obey Vilitch’s eight packs of Chaos Hounds
every command until Archaon’s arrival, these plate-armoured brutes were
Sons of Stormdark
amongst the most efficient killers in the Curseling’s horde. When the east wall
One grand warband of
of Averheim fell, it had been the Sons of Stormdark who fought at Vilitch’s side Chaos Warriors
in the breach. They would fight at his side once more at Bolgen, although their
true loyalties lay elsewhere. The Doomblade Knights
Three warbands of Chaos Knights

The Honourcull
Two grand warbands of
Chaos Warriors

The Severed Claw

One grand warband of
Chaos Warriors

The Tribe of Skulls

One grand horde of Chaos Marauders,
one horde of Marauder Horsemen

The Talons of Chaos

One horde of Chaos Marauders,
four packs of Chaos Hounds

The Ill-Marked
One horde of Forsaken

Crusher
Slaughterbrute

The Hellfire Roar

Twelve batteries of Hellcannons

CRUSHER
The slaughterbrute known as Crusher was slaved to the will of Adroch – one
of the surviving Azure Princes. Adroch had secretly been training the brute
to resist all manner of sorceries, with the intent of employing Crusher as his
method of usurping Vilitch and taking command of the siege. What Adroch
didn’t know was that Vilitch had spells of command buried even deeper in
Crusher’s tiny mind. At the first hint of rebellion, Crusher would have pulverised
Adroch, and all who stood with him.

Chapter 1 | 15
 THE RUINS OF BOLGEN
The greatest concentration of attempt a summoning greater than about the griffon with flail and axe,
hellcannons lay on the Aver’s far any he had performed before. Vilitch bellowing vile curses to dull their
bank, amongst the hillside ruins of would summon daemons enough not fear. Deathclaw’s wings spread wide,
Bolgen. Near a dozen batteries of only to take the defiant city, but also sweeping the nearest attackers from
the daemon engines lay concealed to allow challenge of Archaon – at their feet, broken and battered by a
amongst the remains of what had least, if the howling of the hounds did strength that allowed the griffon to
once been a prosperous Averland not so disrupt Vilitch’s conjurations soar upon the breeze.
village. Bolgen’s inhabitants were all that he instead found himself whisked
long dead. Their bones were strung into the Realm of Chaos. Other northlanders were flooding
up around the siege camp’s perimeter, into the square, many of them clad
or else dangled as trophies from the Yet the clamour of the hounds grew in the grim plate of champions.
northlanders’ tents and the unholy ever louder. By now, some of the Again Deathclaw pounced, this time
totem before the ruined village hall. northlanders – those not heavy with bearing a half-dozen northlanders to
Even at this hour, the night air was mead and rough ale – had some sense the ground. Horses screamed as the
alive with rough song. Every few of the beasts’ discomfort. The air had knights thundered into the square,
seconds the arrhythmic screaming a bittersweet taste to it, like the calm their lances aimed for Deathclaw’s
of hellcannon fire split the air, before a thunderstorm. The wind, sleek flank. But the griffon did not
occasionally followed by desperate until then a gentle northerly breeze, fight alone. There was a sudden flare
cries as one of the machines slipped began to swirl and howl amidst upon Deathclaw’s shoulders as the
its chains and feasted upon its crew. Bolgen’s fire-blacked stones. Sparks Emperor sent lightning coursing into
danced across weapons, crackling the oncoming knights. Flesh sizzled
Some hours after midnight, every from sword point to sword point. and armour fused. Horses screamed
hound in the ruins of Bolgen sat up and spasmed, hurling riders from
on its haunches and howled. Fur-clad Suddenly, there was a blinding flash their saddles before hearts gave out
northlander sentries, roused from and a colossal, sizzling roar. The from the strain. The charge was
their fires, swore as they peered out besiegers’ totem exploded, pelting thrown into tumult, momentum
into the night, and wondered what those nearby with fragments of bone, utterly spent, yards before it reached
scent had caught the beasts’ interest. weapons and other foul trophies of the interlopers. Deathclaw was
Many stared across the River Aver conquest. When the light had faded, a already moving. Before the surviving
and the corpse-strewn killing fields shimmering portal of azure light stood knights could recover their order,
to Averheim’s scarred walls, wary of amidst the ruins, its edges crackling the Emperor’s hammer was blazing
some sortie by the defenders. They and indistinct. The northlanders amongst the confusion. Armour
saw that the gates were closed, that peered in confusion for a moment. buckled and blood flowed with each
the watchfires still blazed upon the Then, cries of warning rippled across strike, and the threat of the knights
battlements, and kicked the hounds Bolgen as a plate-armoured chieftain was ended. But still the northlanders
into silence. Or rather, they tried to. tried to rally his tribesmen. came, pressing close to trap
The beasts would not cease their Deathclaw and his master in a prison
clamour, which grew more raw and The attempt came too late. With a of flesh and steel.
desperate with every passing minute. mighty screech, a shadow leapt clear
of the portal’s depths. With a sweep Mere seconds had passed, but such
At the centre of the desolate village, of its mighty wings, the creature had been the fury of the Emperor’s
in the heart of the ruined Sigmarite pounced, bowling the chieftain to onslaught that all eyes were upon
shrine, Vilitch the Curseling hissed the ground. The northlander hacked his rampage, and every blade raised
orders at his sorcerer cabal. Half at his assailant, but Deathclaw against it. The portal, still shining at
were sent to still the sudden racket gouged downward with his savage the square’s heart, was unguarded
by whatever means they could; the beak, stabbing clean through and unwatched, save for by the fitful
remainder continued their labours at his breastplate’s rough steel and glances of the dying. This proved
the eight-pointed ritual circle. Vilitch disembowelling the brute before his to be a mistake. With a blare of
had scried Archaon’s approach many axe-blow could land. trumpets, the remainder of the
days earlier, and had sworn to take Emperor’s sortie charged out into
Averheim before the Everchosen As their chieftain’s heart pulsed ruined Bolgen, eager for recompense
arrived. The two were rivals of old, its last, the northlanders found against their tormentors of the past
and that rivalry had driven Vilitch to their courage. They pressed close gruelling months.

16 | Chapter 1
From the moment he had drawn his up position about the bridge of
plans, the Emperor had known that storms. Their determination to hold
a conventional sortie would have the position was bolstered by the
been impossible. The siege camp certainty that all would perish if
was simply too far from Averheim’s the escape route was cut. However,
walls, the Aver too wide for a sortie their true purpose was to cause a
to be safely made. But as the weeks distraction, to present an opponent
had passed, his command over the so tempting that no red-blooded
magic of the heavens had grown to a warrior of the northlands could resist
point where he had been confident to its lure. Spears were braced and
attempt more than lightning-calling. handguns levelled, just as the first
The bridge of storms had sapped snarling hounds threw themselves
much of the Emperor’s strength, but it at the attackers’ throats. Only the
had served its purpose well. Now an greatswords of the Griffon Legion
army of his hand-picked soldiers was did not hold position with the rest.
loose amongst the northlander siege They came forward at Ludwig
camp, and would remain so whilst the Schwarzhelm’s bellowed command,
bridge lasted. keen steel flashing in the firelight
as they hacked their way to the
The Emperor had chosen only his Emperor’s side.
most disciplined troops for the
attack. The zealous, the wavering Surprise had carried the Imperial
and the foolhardy had remained sortie far already, and it would
behind Averheim’s walls, there to continue to work in their favour for
be commanded by Ungrim Ironfist some time to come. In Bolgen’s west,
if another assault loomed whilst the Matthias Corber’s pistoliers drove a
sortie was underway. No, those who warband of ale-fuddled marauders
now followed the Emperor into battle and stunted crewers from amongst
were the elite of Sigmar’s scions; the rubble of the ‘Drunken Giant’
greatswords from Carroburg, templars tavern. As half of Corber’s men
of the Reiksguard and the Knights harried the fleeing northlanders,
Griffon, veterans forged in the battles tongues of flame lit the ruined tavern’s
for the Ostland–Kislev border, and timbers as repeated volley of pistols
the surviving regiments of the Griffon and handguns tore a hellcannon
Legion, the Emperor’s personal guard. apart. A few streets over, the Knights
Griffon tore their way through a thin
Each of the sortie’s formations was shield wall, then pressed onward
led by a captain who knew both to destroy another of the daemon
his business and his orders. As the engines. Two of the knights leant in
knights and outriders emerged from too close as they thrust their lances
the bridge of storms, they set their home. The dying hellcannon gave
spurs back against their steeds’ a final bellow, and spat a virulent
flanks, and galloped hard for one of gobbet of daemonfire, reducing the
the hellcannon batteries blazing away knights and their demigryph steeds to
on the village edge. Northlanders, twisted skeletons.
at last aware of another danger
within their midst, peeled away Elsewhere, the hunt did not go so
from the beleaguered Emperor, and well. Egrig Schuler’s Reiksguard
hastily formed ranks against the new crossed the path of one of Vilitch’s
onslaught. It availed them naught. cabal of sorcerers. Before the knights
Lances dipped, pistols blazed, and the could react to the dire threat, a blaze
horsemen tore through the threadbare of pink fire arced across their leading
line and on towards their targets. ranks, slaying Schuler instantly and
reducing a half-dozen of his knights
The Emperor’s infantry, too slow to lumps of pitifully squealing and
to keep pace with the knights, took mutating flesh.
Before Schuler’s lieutenant could take thick upon their tongues. Sorcerers
control, a bellowed war cry came sent all-changing fire sweeping
from further uphill as the Doomblade ahead of the advancing shields. The
Knights charged home. There was flames flickered and died where they
a thunder of hooves, the chime of reached the Emperor, and again on
steel upon steel, and more of the the square’s opposite face where
Reiksguard fell dead into the mud. the astromancer Falstrom muttered
counterspells into his precious
From his position in the ruined scrying orb. Nonetheless, the fire
shrine, Vilitch heard the battle soon took root elsewhere, and many
unfolding through his brother’s ears, an Ostlander perished in its embrace,
and the cries of ‘Sigmar!’ bellowing or was otherwise slain by comrades
through the night. As yet, he could who feared the twisted and mutated
do little about it. The summoning creature he had become. In response,
was underway, and could not be the Emperor thrust his hammer
interrupted without terrible risk. forward, shouting in the old tongue
Better to take a lesser chance, Vilitch of the Unberogens as he did so.
deemed, and speed the ritual along Lightning flared from the weapon’s
to its conclusion. Whatever successes glowing head, hurling one of the
the weaklings of the Empire gained sorcerers away, slamming him into a
in the meantime would surely be pile of stone with a sickening crack.
stripped away once the daemons
were loosed to battle. Vilitch hunched Handguns flamed as the looming
closer to his twin’s immobile form, shields drew nearer. It was too dark,
taking more of Thomin’s power into the northlanders moving too swift
himself. All around the circle, the for accurate aim, but the Ostlanders
sorcerers of his coven shuddered and didn’t care. Sergeants and captains
screamed as the wave of unleashed exhorted their men to aim low and
magic swept over them. where the attackers were densest.
There would be no time to reload, so
In the square, a brief lull had every bullet was now more precious
overtaken the battle. Caught between than gold. Metallic clangs rang out as
the Emperor and Schwarzhelm’s shots caromed off shields or punched
greatswords, the square’s defenders through armour.
had possessed little chance of victory.
Deathclaw’s flanks were streaked with The northlander advance barely
blood, little of which was his own, slowed. The booming war chant
and the flagstones could scarcely be swelled and deepened through the
seen beneath the ravaged corpses of acrid powder smoke, the armoured
the northlanders and their hounds. warriors leaping their dead and
As the last of the northlanders wounded, or kicking them aside.
fled, the Emperor formed his once- Then, with a last glorious exultation
divided forces anew into a rough to Tzeentch, the northlander charge
square. Already, he could see dark crashed home.
shapes moving in the light of the
middle-distant campfires, of banners Braced though it was, the Empire
gathering. It was one thing to defeat square almost crumpled beneath that
disordered and unready northlanders, charge’s sheer brute force. Spears
quite another to withstand a shattered as they hit daemon-forged
determined assault from the plate- armour, Nuln-wrought swords wasted
armoured killers of the Chaos Wastes. their force on shields or thick-furred
cloaks. In return, the axes and maces
The Emperor’s warriors did not have of the northlanders cut deep into
to wait long for the next assault. flesh, battered aside sword and shield
The enemy came from all sides, to hack and pulp the flesh beyond.
shields held high and dark oaths Most of the Chaos warriors fought
with little thought to their own Before the beast could tear the that fear, but refused to succumb to it
defence, casting aside their shields greatswords entirely to ruin, Falstrom – his place was at the Emperor’s side
to bring a second blade to bear, or took command of the winds swirling in all things.
even to strike the foe with a mighty, around the bridge of storms, and
gauntleted fist. They were disdainful drove them full against it. Corpses Though none who fought in the
of the weak men of the south, and were flung across the square as the square yet knew it, the Emperor’s
little wonder, for it took two such men gust grew, but still the armoured plan was succeeding beyond all
to hold a single northlander at bay, monster came on, sweeping aside hope. Drawn by the flaring lightning
and at least one other to have any the remaining greatswords in its and bold Imperial banners, the
chance of slaying the brute. path, its hooves smashing through northlanders had practically trampled
flagstones to seek purchase. Step by one another in their determination to
Whilst Deathclaw still lived, the step, the creature trudged into the reach the square. The upper reaches
Emperor knew little danger, even squall, recognising its tormentor by of the village, from which vantage
from these new foes. He was ever in some brutish instinct. Falstrom held points the hellcannons belched
the thickest of the fray, smiting with his ground, taking not so much as a daemonfire at Averheim’s walls,
hammer and lightning. Elsewhere, backward step, for he had glimpsed were thronged only with warriors
it was only where the greatswords something that the creature’s yellow too sozzled or too slow to join their
fought that the men of the Empire eyes had not. With a sharp gesture, fellows. Such men were run down
knew true success. One strike from Falstrom released the winds. with all speed, their death screams
those artisan-forged zweihanders lost beneath the far louder clamour
could split a Chaos warrior in twain, With no wind to fight any longer, the that came from further downhill.
were the wielder allowed sufficient slaughterbrute staggered forward. It
time to land his blow. The quicker- was still off-balance when Deathclaw By the time of the slaughterbrute’s
witted of the sergeants quickly struck its flank an instant later, the fall, thirteen hellcannons had been
realised this. At their order, spears, force of the impact driving his talons destroyed and another half-dozen set
halberds and shields ceased to be deep into the beast’s thick hide. loose from their chains to rampage
weapons in the truest sense – they The slaughterbrute slewed away hungrily about the siege camp. Two
were now simply tools by which under the momentum of the griffon’s had even come to blows with one
the foe could be caged, pinioned or strike, one claw clamping around another, a contest that had wreathed
blunted long enough for a greatsword Deathclaw’s throat, the other thrust the sky over Bolgen in glorious
to split his skull. away to brace against the ground. The multicoloured flame before one of
Emperor’s hammer flared once, and the daemon engines had emerged
Such tactics could only work the slaughterbrute bellowed in pain as wounded, but triumphant.
whilst the Emperor’s forces had the impact shattered the claws about
the advantage of numbers; for the Deathclaw’s throat. Thus freed, the The cost had been high. Nearly half of
moment at least, that advantage griffon darted forward, and lanced his the Reiksguard had been slain in their
remained. Yet with each second that beak between the armoured plates of battle with the Doomblade Knights.
passed, the danger grew. All across the monster’s neck. A slew of black That they had emerged victorious at
the camp, chains were struck and blood gushed forth as Deathclaw tore all was thanks to a troop of Matthias
cages unlatched as the northlanders out the slaughterbrute’s throat. Corber’s pistoliers, who had beset the
sent more of their savage pets down Chaos knights’ flank with shot and
into the square. Rabid hounds and A great cheer went up from the sabre, scant moments after Schuler’s
shambling spawn were goaded men of the Empire as the creature death. Too many of the Ostlanders
against the Imperial formation, though finally fell, a sound that redoubled in had fallen in that clash and in the
in truth few needed much spurring volume as Schwarzhelm hoisted the subsequent running battles with
once their senses tasted blood. A Imperial Standard high. Despite his steed-borne marauders, but for now
slab-muscled and ruddy-skinned bravado, the Emperor’s Champion the glory of battle was heavy upon
slaughterbrute, many times the height was troubled. Time was against them, and Corber’s riders counted
of a man, slammed into the Carroburg them: the sky was growing ever only their kills, not their losses. Now,
Greatswords. Ignoring the sword- brighter. Certainly, there was dread with dawn threatening the sky, the
strokes that scattered from its hide, in the darkness, but it also concealed raiders knew it was time to make
the creature pounded and stomped hopelessness. In dawn’s light, too good their retreat. Hauling upon
its way into the formation’s heart, many of the men who had followed their steeds’ reins, they turned back
the impact of each armoured limb the Emperor to war would see the towards the portal crackling in the
crushing the valiant men of Carroburg true scope of the odds arrayed against centre of the village, and the salvation
two or three at a time. them. Schwarzhelm acknowledged it offered.

Chapter 1 | 19
 Roiling clouds gathered over Bolgen’s wake. These were the survivors their ground spitting and cursing
Sigmarite shrine as Vilitch at last of earlier attacks, and they were at the horrors come to assail them,
reached the end of his hastened ritual. wild with the need for vengeance, but they died all the same. Captain
As the sorcerer completed the final to unmake the slight upon their Corber saw the danger from his
syllable, his words were repeated manhood that failure had wrought. relatively untouched southern front,
by a deeper voice than his own, the and sent Ostlanders to buttress the
harsh words booming through the The Griffon Legion bore the brunt of Carroburgers’ fading strength. For
ruins like thunder. With a dull roar, that daemon assault, just as they had a few moments, the eastern front
the centre of the ritual circle fell away borne the worst burdens of those long steadied and pushed back their foes.
into many-coloured darkness, and the hours. Men quailed as the writhing Then pink fire scorched across the
daemon horde spilled forth. Seeing the tide crashed against their line, then corpse-strewn flagstones, and the
fruits of his labour through Thomin’s found fresh bravery in the sight of the recaptured ground was lost.
eyes, Vilitch scowled away his Imperial Standard fluttering overhead.
disappointment. The summoning had Schwarzhelm himself knew no fear. The Emperor was on the brink of
been concluded without mishap, but Or rather, if he did, he buried it so ordering the retreat through the
the scale was nowhere near as grand deep that none could guess it from the bridge of storms, abandoning those
as the sorcerer had wished. Hundreds expression upon his face. The Sword he had sent into the dark, when a new
of daemons – not the thousands he of Justice had already reaped its share war cry sounded. From the northern
had striven for – boiled free from the of northlanders that night, and now slopes came a motley warband of
circle’s bindings. Haste had unmade the Emperor’s Champion spurred knights and pistoliers. They were
Vilitch’s schemes – haste, and the forward to slay daemons. Left and bloodstained and battle-worn, and
unforeseen sortie from Averheim. right he hacked, losing count of how there were too many empty saddles
Nonetheless, he felt victory could yet many strange and twisting corpses he amongst their ranks, but the men
be secured. left in his passing. fighting in the square had seldom seen
a sweeter sight.
Thus was the next wave to assault
the Emperor’s position nearly four The newcomers scattered the
times as large as the one that had northlanders milling at Vilitch’s
preceded it. The daemons, wild with rear, and then crashed into the
excitement, came in a shrieking and Fireborne’s ranks. Pistols flared and
capering rush, insane cackles spilling men screamed defiance as they thrust
forth from their mouths and tongues To the west, the daemons fared sword and lance forward, but the
of flickering fire bursting from their poorly. It was there that the Emperor Fireborne line did not break. Indeed,
fingers. When one was slain, it split and Deathclaw fought, and their it scarcely shuddered. Fear and pain
into two smaller blue abominations, might alone was sufficient to keep had no grasp upon their enthralled
each surlier than its ‘parent’, but just much of the onslaught at bay. minds – they heard only the command
as determined to squeeze the life out Moreover, the daemons seemed to to fight. And fight they did, with
of his foes. Gangling fungoids came grow turgid and slow in the Emperor’s strength and skill undimmed by their
behind the capering horrors, flame presence, rendering them easy prey thraldom. The Fireborne clove riders
oozing and spurting from continually to those who fought in the Emperor’s from their saddles, severed limbs and
shifting orifices. And behind these, but shadow. To many of those who fought skulls with murderous ease. They
gaining fast: razor-quick screamers, to the west, this was the final proof fought on through wounds that would
the hunting beasts of the daemonic that Karl Franz was no longer truly have left lesser men sobbing, never
realm. Swift they were, too swift a mortal man, but had been touched shying away from a blade if doing so
for bullets, and they swooped low by Sigmar’s divinity, for surely only would deny their own killing strike.
through the Imperial ranks, horns and the holiest of powers could have
spines slashing through both armour weakened the daemons so? The Emperor’s steely voice rang out,
and flesh. ordering his men to retreat through
Alas, Schwarzhelm’s example and the the bridge of storms. In that same
Behind the daemons at last came Emperor’s deeds were not enough moment, he urged Deathclaw into the
Vilitch, with his chosen warriors thick to rescue a worsening situation. The fight against the Fireborne. Though
about him. The Fireborne advanced eastern face of the square, where wounded and weary, the griffon
relentlessly, driven on by their the slaughterbrute had wrought such launched itself forwards once more.
master’s will. Such sturdy resolve destruction, was barely holding firm.
was nowhere to be seen in the dregs Once more, the men of Carroburg As Deathclaw slammed into Vilitch’s
that surged forward in the Fireborne’s proved their worth. They stood thralls, the men of the Empire

20 | Chapter 1
began their fighting withdrawal. the greatswords came on. Shifting his the Emperor guarded their retreat,
The wounded went first, the able- brother’s stance once again, Vilitch lightning rippling and crackling across
bodied dragging those who could no hurled bolts of writhing lightning the daemonic horde. Hissing with
longer stand; the hale clustering ever against the roaring Deathclaw, but the frustration, Vilitch goaded Thomin to
tighter against the press of gibbering seal upon the Emperor’s breast flared his feet and set him charging towards
daemons. Only Schwarzhelm and white and the bolts dissipated like the portal, barging daemons and
the Griffon Legion went forward, smoke on the breeze. A demigryph marauders aside in his determination
determined to aid the Emperor in his slammed into Vilitch, then screeched to avenge indignities. He was too
rescue of the knights. its last as Thomin’s blade hacked into late. With a final sweep of his wings,
its throat. The knight, thrown from Deathclaw buffeted the daemons
Vilitch’s Fireborne were now his saddle by the steed’s demise, away and sprang into the portal.
pressed close on three fronts, roared once in challenge, then gurgled
and the sorcerer was growing and died as Thomin’s morning star Blinded by rage and humiliation,
desperate. He had thrown daemons crushed his skull. Vilitch had no time Vilitch entered the bridge of storms
and spellfire at the southlanders, to gloat. Deathclaw’s next swooping at a run, changing flame flickering
assailed them with overwhelming leap took him to the sorcerer’s side. from his outstretched fingers. It was
numbers and the unstoppable force One mighty swipe from the griffon’s only when the sorcerer had crossed
of his Fireborne. Would they not paw sent Vilitch flying clean across the threshold that he realised that
die? Vilitch twisted Thomin’s body the square to slam into the ruins of an the egress, wherever it had lain, had
towards Schwarzhelm’s comrades, old militia barracks. closed with the Emperor’s passage.
and sent fire crackling out from his He turned back the way he had came,
own twisted hands. He cackled with Vilitch regained his senses to see in time only to see the shimmering
glee as the heart of the Griffon Legion Schwarzhelm and the last of the gate to Bolgen drown in encroaching
exploded into choking ash, and the Griffon Legion retreating into the darkness. The Emperor had escaped,
Imperial Standard set ablaze. But still bridge of storms. Deathclaw and and he was trapped.

V ilitch had no idea how long he had wandered in the

darkness. Failure rankled at him, and the darkness
brought unease. He would have given much for the
Panic rose in the sorcerer’s gullet, but faded as he
made a new discovery. There was magic in that place,
magic he could use.
ability to summon flame, but he had not felt the winds Flame burst from Vilitch’s staff. In its light, the
of magic since the portal had closed. Now he goaded sorcerer saw through Thomin’s eyes that what he had
his brother’s meaty form through the inky black, ever- taken for stone was in fact shining crystal. Their images
searching for a means of escape. reflected on and on, doubling and redoubling in the
It had been Thomin’s fault that he had become chamber’s fractal splendour.
trapped, of that the sorcerer was sure. His conjoined ‘Where am I?’ the sorcerer hissed aloud.
brother had been too slow, and the enemy had escaped ‘In the domain of the Great Sorcerer,’ came the
as a direct result. response, whispered by a thousand mirthful voices. ‘He
‘Stupid oaf,’ Vilitch hissed, as he had many times since has heard your prayer, loyal champion, and is pleased to
Bolgen. ‘What use is brawn if it cannot function when fulfil it.’
required? You were turgid, clumsy. I curse the fate that ‘What prayer?’ Vilitch demanded of the voices. ‘I made
shackled me to you.’ no supplication.’
Thomin remained silent, as he had in the face of every ‘But I did,’ said Thomin, his voice dry and parched
whispered insult since the twins had first been fused. from decades of silence. ‘It is my turn now.’
Instead, he trudged tirelessly into the darkness. His No! thought Vilitch. He struggled to speak, but found
heavy footfalls thudded across unseen footing, their he could no longer recall any words. Cantrips and spells,
rhythmic pounding unbroken by Vilitch’s constant the studies and schemes of a lifetime, faded from his
stream of invective. mind like spent candleflame. Vilitch did not miss them.
By and by, Thomin could walk no more. Not for lack Indeed, in moments, he had forgotten that they had ever
of strength, for his enthralled body was as unwearied existed; he had even forgotten his own name.
as ever. Rather, Vilitch’s path was blocked by a smooth By the time the crystal labyrinth shifted again, and
expanse of rock that would not shatter, no matter how Thomin strode out beneath the Realm of Chaos’ violent
hard Thomin’s fists pummelled it. Worse, when Vilitch skies, the thing that had been Vilitch the Curseling hung
turned about, he discovered a similar obstacle behind, mute from his shoulder, eagerly awaiting his brother’s
though how it had come there, he could not say. wise instruction.

Chapter 1 | 21
 For glorious days after he oversaw what preparations could
the battle in the ruins of be made for Archaon’s arrival. In
Bolgen, the bombardment between the increasingly intermittent
of Averheim all but attacks, engineers and light wizards
ceased. For the first time in long laboured to buttress the battered
months, hope was reborn. walls. Black powder mines were set
amongst the rubble and fitted with
On the northern wall, engineers used cunning dwarfen fuses that could
spyglasses to peer across the Aver, to not be set alight by chance. Where
the remains of Vilitch’s siege camp. the walls were weakest, barricades
The plunder-thirsty skaven, never the were dragged into the streets beyond,
most reliable of allies, had stripped huge mounds of rubble and timber
the siege camp’s remains bare. That that could funnel the attackers into
betrayal left the northern portion of carefully prepared ambuscades.
the siegeworks badly weakened, and
the Emperor would have considered The Emperor had heard the rumours
a breakout, had he not known that of friendly armies on the march. He
Archaon’s horde would sweep recognised the need they spoke to,
through those same lands. even if he knew them to be untrue.
The Empire had no other armies,
The Emperor did not speak of just the battered and doomed host
this new danger to any save his within Averheim’s walls. However, as
council. Thus, as far as Averheim’s the hours ticked by, and Archaon’s
beleaguered defenders were horde drew nearer, the Emperor at
concerned, Karl Franz had delivered last admitted there was yet an army
their first serious victory – the first of within the Empire’s bounds, and a
many more to come, for it seemed that mighty one at that. He had not wanted
the tide of the war had turned. Many to call upon their aid, for some allies
celebrated, but a few looked upon the were scarcely less horrific than the
ragged survivors of the night’s sortie, enemy at the gates. It no longer
and realised that triumph had come mattered. Averheim needed aid if it
with a terrible price. Nonetheless, were to survive, regardless of whence
whispers spread through the squalid the aid came.
barracks and tenements that help
would come soon. The Empire was That night, Karl Franz led another
not so broken as had previously been sortie from Averheim’s walls, borne
thought. Armies were converging on into the skies by Deathclaw’s mighty
Averheim, the rumours said, armies wings. Behind him came a dozen of
that would break the siege once and Jerrod’s knights, each astride a swift
for all. Yet these rumours were lies. pegasus. The swirling furies parted
That they were lies born of hope made as the Emperor’s lightning hammered
them all the crueller. A favourite tale through the clouds. Screeching with
was of how Valten, herald of Sigmar, dismay, the daemons banked clear
was yet free in the north, and was of the crackling bolts, then swooped
gathering to him all men who had back around to assail the lesser
the strength and will to fight. Only prey that followed in the Emperor’s
the Emperor knew that Valten was wake. It availed them naught. Though
dead. In a dream too vivid to be mere the knights of Bretonnia had eaten
fantasy, he had felt the blow that had meagre rations since the siege began,
taken the lad’s head. Valten was not their steeds had wanted for little. Few
coming. No one was coming. daemons of the immortal realms could
match a pegasus for swiftness, in
Though wearied by his burdens, moments of need. Though the knights
the Emperor did not rest. Indeed, felt the lure of combat, the desire to
he hardly slept at all any longer. strike the daemon-crows from the
Together with Ungrim and Jerrod, skies, duty won out over pride. Even
as a second torrent of lightning split
the swarm of furies apart once more,
the knights were already a league
shrouded Sylvania, seized by
Mannfred von Carstein’s vampiric
minions. The self-styled Lord of
‘F ools! All of them, fools!
Vlad von Carstein’s
voice drowned out the sound of
to the east, drawing further from Sylvania had fallen in Nagash’s sight the door slamming behind him.
Averheim with each passing moment. of late, condemned through his own Balthasar Gelt was careful to
In the panniers of their leader, Aubric double-dealing and a feud with the keep his gaze on one of the wax-
of Bastonne, nestled a scroll bearing vampiress Neferata. The Queen encrusted chandeliers.
the Imperial seal. of Mysteries had only ever served ‘Have you nothing to say?’
Nagash under sufferance. With the Vlad demanded ‘Have...’ He
Thus did the Emperor propose a Great Necromancer seldom stirring broke off in a fit of coughing
military alliance with the Great from the Black Pyramid, she had that spattered drops of stinking,
Necromancer, Nagash. Common taken the opportunity to retreat to green-red fluid across the
purpose with the undead was not her fortress at the Silver Pinnacle, polished wooden floor. The
entirely unheard of. During the where she would not have to endure sores and lesions had faded,
Glottkin invasion, the vampire Vlad the company of creatures such as the but Otto Glott’s ‘gift’ still raged
von Carstein had drawn swords Mortarch of Night. within him. Gelt did not know
alongside the living, had even been the seriousness of his master’s
made an elector count in exchange Sensible of his waning fortunes, plight. Vlad von Carstein was not
for his oath to stand ready in the Mannfred did not put the knights to one to admit weakness.
Empire’s defence. death himself, but delivered them – ‘What is it?’ Gelt asked.
largely intact – to the Black Pyramid. Vlad wiped his lips clean.
There, Aubric was permitted to deliver ‘Karl Franz has at last asked for
his message, but was then put to aid, but Nagash has refused. My
death without ever receiving a reply. peers haven’t the courage to defy
him. They do not realise what is
There was one fatal miscalculation at stake.’
in the Emperor’s plan: it all hinged Defiance kindled in Gelt’s
on Nagash’s willingness to accept an soul. ‘Then all this has been for
alliance, and the Great Necromancer nothing. I should never have
saw no reason why he should do so. listened to you.’
In the time since he had returned to Vlad gave a sharp smile – his
Sylvania, Nagash had lain recumbent first since entering the ballroom.
Ungrim and Jerrod had both argued within the Black Pyramid, drawing ‘You still blame me for what you
against the Emperor’s chosen course. the death magic of Sylvania into his have become?’
It was one thing to make an accord own undead form. When complete, ‘It is an unholy power.’
with a von Carstein, quite another to Nagash was certain he would have ‘You brought this fate upon
treat with his undying master. But the power enough to challenge the Chaos yourself,’ Vlad said airily. ‘I
Emperor had brooked no argument. Gods themselves. As yet, the process merely ensured that your ‘fall’
Aid could come from no other quarter. was but half-finished. Nagash had counted for something.’
Ulthuan was gone. Those dwarfs not no desire to draw the attention of the ‘I’ll never believe that.’
already within Averheim’s walls had Chaos Gods until he was ready, and Vlad staggered as a coughing
sealed themselves away so deep that none at all to risk his grand plan to fit wracked his body. ‘Then
messengers could not reach them. save a relative handful of mortals who believe this,’ he said at last.
Allies of old were in short supply, would serve him better dead than ‘You and I shall go to Averheim,
and the only respite lay with an they would alive. even if no other in this land will.
ancient enemy. Neither the dwarf nor Nagash promised to restore
the Bretonnian had much liked the But the proposed alliance was not Isabella to me, and has not done
Emperor’s logic, but they had acceded forgotten by all. Alone of Nagash’s so. I owe him nothing in return.’
nonetheless. All knew that Nagash surviving Mortarchs, Vlad von He paused, thoughtful. ‘And then
would attempt to twist any victory Carstein yet felt a passing loyalty to there is the matter of my oath.’
to his own dark purposes, but that the Empire. Moreover, he recognised ‘It means that much to you?’
battle could be fought when and if any the Great Necromancer’s deluded asked Gelt, wary of some trap.
survived the coming weeks. arrogance. Vlad knew that Averheim’s ‘It shouldn’t,’ Vlad conceded.
fate would soon be Sylvania’s also if ‘Though perhaps it is not you
Aubric’s knights were taken captive action were not taken, and resolved to alone who has been changed by
soon after they broached night- defy his master. our partnership.’

Chapter 1 | 25
 Vlad departed Sylvania at play within his acolyte’s mind, he truth they served only the Blood God.
in secrecy, with only gave no sign, and certainly made no They would drown Averheim in its
Gelt and a bodyguard of effort to prevent Gelt from roaming. defenders’ gore, and pile the skulls
Drakenhof Templars. He high in testament to their wrathful
doubted that Nagash had attention to Meanwhile, far to the west, the patron. This they would do at
spare for trivial surveillance, but the vanguard of Archaon’s army at last Archaon’s direction, but only because
same could not be said of his fellow reached Averheim. They spilled from Khorne had decreed it.
Mortarchs. Of the original nine, only the Old Dwarf Road into the village
four others remained at Nagash’s of Bolgen, driving out the skaven There were many warlords amongst
side, and Vlad trusted none of them. who had squatted in the ruins since the Skaramor, but one bore Khorne’s
Arkhan and Krell scarcely existed as Vilitch’s defeat. By the time dusk fell, favour more visibly than most. Skarr
beings in their own right any longer, the northern skyline was choked with Bloodwrath had roamed the wastes
so closely tied were they to their black banners, with more streaming for centuries. He had slaughtered
dread master. Luthor Harkon was in at every moment. The following enemies beyond counting, and been
mad, and Mannfred... Mannfred was morning, the land between Bolgen laid low himself on many occasions,
the most treacherous of all, always and the Aver was thick with tents and only to be reborn from the blood
reaching for a prize ever out of his campfires, yet still more northlanders of those he had slain. Skarr was
reach, and far beyond anything that came. They spread east and west a champion well on the way to
he had earned. Mannfred would have along the riverbanks, displacing daemonhood – at least, insofar as
betrayed Vlad to Nagash in a moment, warbands and tribes who had been such things could ever be certain
and so Vlad gathered his bodyguard part of the siege from the very start. – and he was a terror to his own
away from prying eyes. followers as much as he was a blight
Even from the distance of Averheim’s upon the foe.
They rode with all speed, urged by all walls, it was plain that the newcomers
the dark magic at Vlad’s command, were of a different mettle to those Amongst all the warriors of the
but still Gelt deemed their progress they replaced. Their banner poles Skaramor, only the Gorequeen
too slow. The decision made, he were hung with naked skulls, their Valkia dared oppose Skarr. She too
longed to return to his people, even armour was the colour of spilt blood, was held high in Khorne’s regard,
if all he achieved was to die at their and their war songs little more than and the Blood God’s blessings had
side. With each passing hour, he felt discordant shrieking. Where they redoubled following her slaughter
more his old self, more like the Gelt of marched, the skies shone a wrathful of the Naggarothi. The survivors of
years ago, before Vlad had tempted and brooding red, and the waters of that campaign marched to Averheim
him onto the path of necromancy. His the Aver ran thick with gore. These beneath Valkia’s skull-laden banner.
thoughts were clearer, his purpose were the tribes of the Skaramor, and They were fewer in number than
sharper. Vlad’s influence was falling amongst their number marched the Skarr’s followers, but had a war-
away, though whether this was the skullreapers, murderous champions of honed savagery that more than made
vampire’s own choice, or some side the Blood God. up for their relative lack of warriors.
effect of the Glottkin poison, Gelt
could not be sure. He certainly made Up until that point, the skullreapers Both Skarr and Valkia had grown
no attempt to speak of it with Vlad. had been the stuff of bleak rumour. mighty with Khorne’s favour,
Seldom had their warbands crossed but there was one amongst the
Instead, Gelt spent long hours ranging into the Empire. The skullreapers host whose mind and body had
ahead of the templars’ march, and deemed the men of the south to be buckled beneath divine gifts. Scyla
put from his mind the spells and weaklings, their severed heads poor Anfingrimm had been one of the
incantations he had learnt as Vlad’s trophies of battles that had never been Skaramor since he had joined them
pupil. This was no easy task, and in doubt. Instead, they had roamed in obliterating his old tribe. Scyla had
temptation ever whispered through the northern wastes, preying upon once been a great champion, a terror
Gelt’s mind, but the wizard was the territory of mighty warriors: upon the coastlines of the world, but
determined to become the man he had the Kurgan, the Hung, the Kvelligs he was a leader no longer; he was no
once been, in thought as well as deed. and a dozen more. Now, with the longer even a man. His mind was that
He held out no hope that he would weaklings at last purged from the of a raging beast, his only desire to
ever be welcomed by his fellow men – Empire at other hands, the Skaramor kill and destroy. Nevertheless, Scyla’s
his fall had done much to bring about came south in their thousands instinct for slaughter was undimmed.
the Empire’s current cataclysmic state and tens of thousands to slay the Many amongst the Skaramor believed
– but hope of personal redemption survivors. Their lords had pledged him high in Khorne’s favour even
still lingered. If Vlad knew what was allegiance to Archaon’s war, but in now, and that to follow him into battle

26 | Chapter 1
was to court the Blood God’s favour.
Where the ground shook to Scyla’s
monstrous stride, the Skaramor were
‘W hat is your will,
Everchosen?’ Ka’Bandha
rumbled from behind Archaon.
close behind. The Everchosen marked the
daemon’s impatience, and
Clashes broke out amongst the swept his gaze across fire-
besiegers that night as the Skaramor scorched ground and the circle
bloodily seized control. Battle cries of kneeling champions. Amongst
and the clash of steel upon steel rolled the Everchosen’s warlords,
across the wide Aver valley as a new only Ka’Bandha stood tall; only
hierarchy was forged. Chieftains Ka’Bandha chafed at servitude.
who would not pledge loyalty to the The mortals were no better than
newcomers were decapitated, and dogs, desperate to please the
thrown into the river. Many of those Lord of Skulls and, by extension,
who did swear allegiance to Valkia his emissary. So long as blood
or Skarr were slain also, their blood flowed, they would obey, but
dedicated to the Lord of Skulls, their Ka’Bandha wished to be more
heads added to the grim totems set than simply a tool of slaughter.
just beyond the range of cannon-fire. Archaon did not answer
straight away, but stared
The last of the skaven scurried silently out across the Aver
away that night, having no desire to valley, towards the last Imperial
continue the siege alongside such fortress. The Imperials hid
allies. Their absence was scarcely behind walls, never learning
missed. The defenders had eyes only that to do so was to declare your
for the blood-mad horde newly come cause already lost.
to their lands, and the Skaramor One last battle, and the Empire
cared not that the callow, treacherous would be erased from history.
vermin had departed. It was a journey of centuries
almost done. A lesser man might
Still the Skaramor flooded into the feel exultation or apprehension
Aver valley. They made no move to at a life’s work so nearly
assault the walls, content to war complete, but the Everchosen felt
amongst themselves as they awaited nothing in the yawning abyss
the arrival of he who had set them to that was his soul.
the march. Thousands amongst the ‘What is your will?’ the
horde perished as axes grew restless, Bloodthirster growled again,
but thousands more arrived under the each word laden with threat.
red and angry sun. At night, Averheim Archaon knew that the
shook to drumbeat and war-song, its daemon would kill him the
defenders’ fevered dreams disturbed moment he lost Khorne’s favour,
by the chant and death-bellow of but not before. Pathetic. The
blood sacrifice. Bloodthirster possessed might
enough to crush a small army,
At last, days after the first of the but was reluctant to hack down
Skaramor set foot in the Aver valley, his mortal liege, lest it offend his
Archaon came to Averheim. He rode divine master. Fortunately, the
at the head of his Swords of Chaos, Blood God was easiest of the four
and Ka’Bandha’s great winged Dark Brothers to keep amused.
shadow loomed close behind. All at Ka’Bandha would wait forever.
once, thick black clouds began to Turning his back on Averheim,
swirl overhead, and red lightning split Archaon at last addressed his
the sky. The chanting Skaramor fell champions. ‘They have fought
silent for a moment, but then their well. We shall grant them the
song began again, wilder and more gift of a glorious death. But
wrathful than before. remember, Karl Franz is mine.’
 The defenders of The horde swept closer, the chanting smoke hung lifeless about the walls,
Averheim had expected became more ragged as all attempt at concealing the bellowing mass below.
the new-come horde formation was abandoned. Oil-soaked Still the defenders loaded and fired,
to spend several days bundles of straw were set alight and loaded and fired, trusting that the
reinforcing their siege lines. The city’s heaved from the ramparts, their dirty horde was so vast that no shot would
walls still stood tall, and the skaven yellow flames illuminating the closest be wasted.
had proven time and again that attackers clear enough for proper
assault by escalade led to little other aim. Handguns blazed across the Thousands of Skaramor perished
than the slaughter of the attackers. rampart, the dirty cough of Imperial before reaching the walls, hundreds
A breach would be needed to carry arms punctuated by the deeper, more fell wounded and were trampled
Archaon’s forces beyond the city sharper report of the rifled dwarfen by their own kind, but the defenders
walls, and breaches took time to carve guns. Skaramor fell by the score, the felt no triumph. All were desperately
in thick stone. Averheim had days dead and wounded trampled by those thirsty from the bitter powder smoke
of bombardment to endure before who came behind. Handguns flamed that lingered thickly about the walls.
steel clashed upon steel. So did the for a second time. Across the wall’s All were weary, for those without
defenders believe. foot, chains fell from lifeless hands, bows or handguns had busied
but plenty of brass grapnels bit home themselves by heaving rocks – and
They were wrong. upon the wall. Within moments, even their own dead – over the walls,
each chain was heavy with straining relying on the plunge to add lethal
The assault along the northern wall Skaramor, hauling themselves hand force to the improvised missiles.
began scant hours after Archaon’s over hand toward the battlement.
banner had crested the skyline. The And dead there were upon the walls,
Skaramor came under dark clouds Cannons and mortars continued to too many dead by far. Throughout
and blood-red skies, howling like pound the Skaramor flooding to the the assault, Skaramor hurled axes,
madmen and chanting in harsh base of the wall, but the handgunners dirks and other crude blades at the
tongues. At first, the watchmen on the now targeted the foes ascending ramparts. Most were cheated by
northern wall held their fire, fearing the outer face. Bullets cracked and the stone, but enough found their
that the attack was intended to lure whined, ricocheting from dark plate mark. Marksmen died mid-shot as
the defenders into betraying their and thudding into flesh. Dozens of the blades thudded home, coarse
positions with weapons fire. Then northlanders plummeted from their insults fell ashen on troll slayers’
they counted the number of torches chains, bones smashed or muscles tongues. Each body that toppled from
blazing in the crimson dark, and torn beyond use. Others were hauled the ramparts or slid back from the
knew that this was no mere test of the clear by the unwounded who came parapet was greeted with a chorus
defences. Orders rang out across the behind, no longer willing to be of jeers from the horde below. The
battlement, linstocks were pressed delayed by a comrade’s dying flesh. northlanders did not care that their
to touch-holes, and the first cannons losses were a thousandfold those
unleashed their fury. As gunners continued to fire, other of their foes. Their assault culled
defenders hacked at the grapnels. the weak, and made an offering of
For a brief, glorious moment, the roar Their slim swords could not split slaughter to the Blood God.
and scream of roundshot drowned the chains, so dwarfs brought up
out the bellowing of the Skaramor. hammers and axes. They battered at In the early hours of the morning,
That moment passed all too soon, the brass until the tortured metal gave the assault thickened. Grapnels
and the cries of the dying were way, and even smote the parapet’s were hurled against the eastern and
quickly masked by the renewed war- facing stones until the attackers’ own western walls. Rain-sodden troops
fervour of those below. Explosions weight tore them loose. But for every who had been sent to reinforce Duke
shook the rotting boneyard that was grapnel dislodged in this manner, Jerrod’s northern garrison were
Averheim’s northern approach, the another three found purchase upon hurriedly recalled to give battle
brief flames revealing tattooed bodies the walls. on other quarters. Ungrim Ironfist
flung aside and mangled corpses led the defence of the east. Again
hurled skywards in pieces. Aiming So it raged for hours. The approach and again, the fire in his blood
was almost impossible in that light, to the walls became choked with the boiled loose to scour the Skaramor
but it was of little consequence. The newly slain, as the Skaramor were from the wall’s foot, but each time
Skaramor were as thick as beetles hurled from the stones by arrow, bolt unwounded northlanders surged
upon the approach, and it was an and bullet. Yet still the northlanders over the blackened dead. It was
unlucky shell indeed that missed its came. As midnight approached, little better to the west. There, the
mark entirely. the wind died. Stinking powder Emperor’s lightning reduced scores of

28 | Chapter 1
northlanders to charred and stinking through the rain and across the Aver the words were fully uttered. Skarr’s
flesh, but still the Skaramor hurled valley, they saw that they had done next strike split the tempered steel as
themselves on. their work too well. The dead of the if it were a twig, and the backswing
northern assault had lain where they clove the captain’s head from his
To make matters worse, the remaining had fallen, each new wave of attackers body. Roaring with triumph, Skarr
hellcannons – silent for long days at trampling down the fallen who had heaved the ruined corpse to one
Archaon’s order – now recommenced come before. In many places along the side and stepped into the newly
their bombardment. As the sky northern wall, the mound of the dead created space. Behind him, bellowing
brightened, the air was full of trailing was so high that its crest lay but feet Skaramor warriors hauled their way
fire, screaming towards Averheim. below the crenelations. It would be a onto the wall.
The barrage was thinner than in steep climb, and a macabre one, but
previous weeks, but far more tightly the compacted dead offered a route Oaths to Sigmar, Grimnir and the
targeted. Every shot slammed home to the battlements as sure as any blessed Lady rang out across the
against the ancient masonry of the siege tower. The attackers had seen wall as the defenders strove to clear
north gate, each impact shuddering it too. When they began anew, the the rampart, but the enemy were
the battlements and showering northlanders hurled themselves up the too many. Now it was the turn of
the Skaramor with fragments of mounds of their own dead, scrabbling the northlanders to wreak slaughter,
pulverised stone. and clawing at the still warm flesh in for few amongst the defenders could
their desperation to reach the summit. match a skullreaper’s battle-fury.
It was not just the Skaramor who Only where the dwarfish slayers
died in the shadow of the north At the north gate, the situation and Jerrod’s knights fought did the
gate. Archaon had loosed his army’s was far worse. The hellcannon onslaught even slow. With each
behemoths against the battered bombardment had shattered the moment that passed, however, more
steel and timber portal, intending arched bastions that stood guard over of the northern wall fell into the
them to pry the ancient gates apart. the gate, and had unseated many of northlanders’ grasp. The trickle of
Two giants and a slaughterbrute the helblasters and cannons that had Skaramor upon the walls became a
lay unmoving between the great so far kept Archaon’s monstrous host flood. Duke Jerrod, his sword already
stone arches, their guts shot away at bay. Now the roar of smoke and slick with the invaders’ blood, cursed
by helblaster volley guns cunningly flame was reduced to mere pinpricks at his ill fate, and ordered the retreat
concealed within the walls. But the of light and fury, drowned out by the from the walls.
Everchosen had such brutes to spare, crude battle-oaths of the giants who
and he sent them unhesitatingly into battered at the gate with boulders and Ungrim and the Emperor needed no
the killing ground. meaty fists. warning of Jerrod’s plight. For long
minutes now, routed defenders had
Dawn came, and the heavens burst, Helstorm rockets were stripped from been fleeing east and west, desperate
thunder rumbling about Averheim’s their launchers by frantic defenders. to escape the doom that waited to
walls like the booming laughter Fuses were lit, and the blazing the north. These were peasants
of a cruel god. Heavy rain swept missiles tossed into the space before of Bretonnia and militiamen of the
across the Aver valley, transforming the gate. The flash and roar of the Imperial provinces – men who had
the already muddy ground into a explosions rocked the gateway. One fought well against terrible odds, but
bloody quagmire. Defenders who had giant toppled over, his chest blown whose courage had at last deserted
moments before prayed for water to apart by a rogue rocket’s strike. them. Nary a dwarf fled with them.
quench the acrid powder stench in Another roared in pain, his eyes burnt Valaya’s children died without turning
their throats, now shuddered as their out by the fires rippling across his their backs upon the foe.
garb grew heavy with water, and the body, but continued to pummel the
chill of the rain crept into their bones. gate until life left him. The Emperor urged Deathclaw into
Still they loaded and fired, loaded and the air, to better judge the plight of
fired, glad for the wan daylight that A short distance to the east, Skarr the northern wall. At once he saw
aided their aim. Bloodwrath was first on the rampart, Jerrod’s men boiling down the broad
his chained axes whirling through the ramps and into the Plenzerplatz
There was a brief and unexpected lull downpour. Already, a dozen bodies beyond. He saw also that no amount
in the fighting, as the next wave of lay at his feet, the bold colours of of reinforcement could alter the
Skaramor dragged their way through Ostland and Talabecland glistening situation, even had he any to give.
the valley’s sucking morass. But with fresh blood. An Ostlander Then came a dark flash from the
the light brought despair as well as captain bellowed a challenge, his northern gatehouse, and the Emperor
hope. As the defenders peered out greatsword already swinging before knew that the city was lost.

Chapter 1 | 29
 A rchaon urged Dorghar towards the north gates,
uncaring of the shots whining around him and
rebounding off his armour. This was his hour of destiny
‘U’zuhl, come forth!’ the Everchosen commanded,
holding the Slayer of Kings high. ‘Lend me your
strength!’
– no peasant’s bullet could prevent that. In response, dark light rippled along the outstretched
Behind Archaon rode the Swords of Chaos. Ahead of blade, and Archaon felt the haft grow cold. The daemon
him, the gates’ wooden facings loomed high. They were within the cursed steel had obeyed – this time, at least.
torn and dented, the steel core showing through in many Archaon brought the Slayer of Kings about in a
places. The Everchosen gave a small grunt of surprise. single, smooth motion, the tip of the blade striking the
He had not believed the gates would have lasted so long centre of the gates. There was a flash of ashen light as a
against the creatures he had loosed against them. Yet deafening explosion ripped the mighty gates from their
still the gates stood, battered but unbroken whilst their archway, and hurled the blasted remains deep into the
assailants were nought but scraps of flesh and bone city beyond.
scattered at their feet. Beneath his three-eyed helm, Archaon smiled. The city
of Averheim was in his grasp. Karl Franz would be next.

Weary and bloodied though From the south wall, the runesmith shielded by the knights of two realms.
Averheim’s defenders might have Gotri Hammerson witnessed the This rearguard repeatedly harried the
been, they were not yet done. blood-mad horde flow about Ungrim’s northlanders, holding the horde back
Contingencies for the city’s fall were position. Ordering the dwarfs of with steel and lightning. Each charge
almost as old as the siege itself, Zhufbar to abandon defences that cost them dear. Knights were dragged
and were now put into desperate would soon be overcome, he hurried from their saddles and hacked
effect. Cannons and helblasters north along the ramparts. The steel of apart. Jerrod was unhorsed twice,
were abandoned on the walls, too Zhufbar would fight alongside the fire saved once by the sacrifice of his old
cumbersome to be salvaged. The of Karak Kadrin. comrade, Taurin the Wanderer, and a
injured were loaded onto gun limbers, second time when Deathclaw’s talons
or hauled away by their comrades. Flames blossomed through Averheim’s raked through a warband of skull-
northern quarter as the invaders helmed knights. Little by little, the
As the Emperor marshalled his sodden sacked and pillaged everything in shrinking band inched back towards
knights to reinforce the retreat from the their path. Screams echoed through the Plenzerplatz, knowing that to give
north wall, the west wall’s defenders the rain as fleeing defenders were in to panic was to invite death.
fell back through Averheim’s streets cut off from safety. Khornate axes
in good order. At every crossway, hacked down, severed heads were Further south, officers barked orders
captains and thanes brought their piled amongst the ruins, and the at the troops flooding into the
soldiers to a halt and fired volleys northlanders pressed on, eager for Plenzerplatz, bringing order to the
through the deluge, clearing the more victims. retreat. Behind them, a smoothly
attackers from the streets behind. It arching roadway led up to the
was slow and steady work, but the Averburg, the open gates beckoning
regiments kept their nerve, no matter the defenders to safety. The first
what howling horrors threw themselves regiments were heading towards
into their path. the causeway when a vast shadow
swooped overhead, circled once,
To the east there would be no and alighted atop the pillar of skulls
withdrawal. There, the Skaramor raised in commemoration of Gorbad
had burst swiftly through the rout, Ironclaw’s long-ago invasion.
cutting Ungrim Ironfist’s line of retreat.
Deeming the burning streets a poor Handguns sparked and arrows
place to make his final stand, the Slayer The Steilstrasse – the main route whistled through the air as the
King had instead marshalled his dwarfs between the north gate and the assembled troops sought to fell the
about the bastions of the eastern wall. Plenzerplatz – was kept clear, monster in their midst. Ka’Bandha
Fire licked the eastern sky, marking and this only because it was the bellowed brief laughter as the
where Ungrim stood and, as the wind roadway by which the Emperor and arrowheads and bullets nicked at his
shifted, the death-songs of the slayer Duke Jerrod made their withdrawal. flesh. Then the grim sound abruptly
host billowed across the beleaguered Infantry double-timed towards ceased, replaced by a thunderous
city. Whatever followed, the scions of the Plenzerplatz, and the safety of intonation of harsh and writhing
Karak Kadrin would face it alone. the Averburg beyond, their retreat words. Black blood spilled across

30 | Chapter 1
Ka’Bandha’s limbs, running in rivulets
down the pillar of skulls. The fluid
gathered in eye sockets and the
without flinching, but the emergence
of daemons at the heart of the city
had finally broken their will. The
J errod looked out across the
ruin of the Plenzerplatz and
swore softly. All around him,
hollows of brainpans, then spilled dwarfs alone held their ground, Averheim burned. Defeat had
over the calcified ridges to gather at forming crude shield walls and rally come so quickly, so completely.
the pillar’s base. squares in the heart of the rout. Jerrod sensed motion to his
Ragged militia streamed and swirled left, and turned in his saddle to
The soldiers in the square below past, bloodletters howling in pursuit. see Deathclaw land beside him.
redoubled their efforts, some noting in Then the militiamen were gone, or Karl Franz’s face was no less
horror that there was too much blood, fled up the roadway to the Averburg. stricken than his own, but then
far more than could have spilled from The dwarfs were alone, islands in Averheim had been his city, and
the daemon’s veins. Still Ka’Bandha the daemonic tide. For a time, axes the last bastion of his people.
chanted, and the pool of blood hacked and pistols blazed across the ‘Your knights fought well,’
expanded across the cobbles, lapping Plenzerplatz but, one by one, the said the Emperor, at last. ‘We
at feet and ankles. shield walls were breached and the couldn’t have held as long as we
dwarfs overwhelmed. did without them.’
‘For all the good it has done.’
Even with all that had happened, ‘Every day of defiance was a
the Averburg could still have held. victory,’ the Emperor corrected.
Alas, its gates, opened to admit the ‘And my defiance, at least, is not
retreating defenders, were too slow. yet done.’
Before the heavy barricades could He flung out an arm in the
close, Ka’Bandha was between them, direction of the Steilstrasse,
a mighty claw braced against each. where black banners and a
The first screams broke out moments For a dozen heartbeats, daemonic golden helm could be seen
later. Wiry arms lunged out of the brawn fought the steam-powered through the shifting smoke.
blood, their dark talons latching dwarfen mechanisms that drove the ‘At the head of this horde
onto thighs and arms. Soldiers were gate. With each passing moment, rides the one they name the
yanked from their feet, dragged more bloodletters streamed beneath Everchosen. He is the Dark
beneath the surface of a pool that the greater daemon’s outstretched Gods’ chief emissary upon this
could not possibly be deep enough to arms and into the Averburg’s world. Kill him, and we may yet
conceal their bodies. Panic reigned courtyard. Helblasters flamed, and the thwart their purpose. We will at
as the militiamen backed desperately leading daemons vanished, torn apart least make an ending worthy of
away. A warrior priest shouted by the hail of shot. More bloodletters the telling.’ He paused. ‘I would
castigations, and struck at fleeing flooded in behind, hacking down the reckon our chances better if a
soldiers with the butt of his hammer. gunnery crews before they could few good knights of Bretonnia
As he railed at the fleeing men, a reload. Worse yet for the Averburg’s rode with us. Perhaps your Lady
horned daemon, hunched and wiry, defenders, a series of clanging booms will see fit to bless our cause?’
burst clear of the pool. Springing sounded somewhere in the walls as ‘Is Sigmar’s blessing not
to the priest’s side, the bloodletter piston-seals blew and scalding steam enough?’ Jerrod asked, his
beheaded the luckless mortal with vented into the gatehouse. The gates spirits peculiarly lifted by the
a single blow, then bounded to gave one last shudder and went still. Emperor’s words.
find another victim. As the priest’s With a bellow of victory, Ka’Bandha ‘He will ride with us, sure
headless body fell into the spreading passed beneath the crest of Siggurd, enough,’ the Emperor replied.
pool, hundreds more daemons and into the last remaining fortress of ‘But in these dark days I will
breached the surface. With one last the Empire. take the aid of any god who will
guttural syllable, Ka’Bandha spread offer it.’
his wings once more, and swooped to By the time the Emperor’s weary Neither man said anything
join the slaughter. rearguard reached the Plenzerplatz, for a moment. In the middle-
they found it strewn with dead. distance, the black banners
There was no halting the rout from The pool about the pillar of skulls drew steadily nearer.
the Plenzerplatz. The men of the hissed and bubbled. High above, the ‘One last charge, then?’ Jerrod
Empire had given their all in the Averburg’s walls ran with blood, and asked at last.
siege of Averheim. They had endured the screams of the garrison danced ‘One last charge,’ the Emperor
daemonfire, had held firm against like daemons upon the air. There was agreed. ‘Let us make an end they
warriors who marched into death to be no refuge. will remember.’

Chapter 1 | 31
 THE LADY’S CHOSEN
The Emperor’s knights did not ride into battle alone. Those sons of Bretonnia who yet remained had sworn
their strength would defend the realm of their ancient rivals, and they steered true to that course, even in that
final hour.

JERROD, LANDLESS DUKE OF BRETONNIA

Though Jerrod had not realised it at the time, he had borne witness to the
opening battles of the End Times, when Bretonnia was plunged into civil war.
Since then, the former Duke of Quenelles had fought on many battlefields
– even in defence of an Empire he always held to be an upstart foe. With
Bretonnia a plague-ravaged wasteland, and his king long dead, Jerrod fought
on only because he believed it his duty to do so. Faith in the Lady was all that
sustained him, but it granted him purpose enough to confront the blood-mad
horrors of Archaon’s horde.

THE COMPANIONS OF QUENELLES

At Jerrod’s side fought the same knights who had shared his every battlefield
since the earliest days of the Bretonnian civil war – or rather, those who had
survived those battlefields. Gioffre of Anglaron had died beneath Krell’s axe
at La Maisontaal, Raynor and Hernald during the desperate battle for Altdorf.
All told, scarce three-score knights survived from a company that had once
numbered in the hundreds. However, they were the cream of what Bretonnia
had once offered, driven by duty and their Lady to stand against evil wherever
it was found – even in the defence of the Empire. They would forge fresh
legends before the battle was done.

Duke Jerrod
Bretonnian Lord

Charise of the Shining Stars

Damsel of the Lady

The Dawnstars
One lance of Pegasus Knights

The Companions of Quenelles

Three lances of Knights of
THE MOB the Realm
Jerrod’s knights might have fought for such concepts as honour and duty,
but the peasants who had followed them to Averheim battled on purely for The Mob
Five levies of Men-at-arms,
survival. Even more ragged than was the norm, the commoners bore a motley
three levies of Peasant Bowmen
collection of heraldry, for they had come from every province within despoiled
Bretonnia. Most were masterless, but had rightly judged that they stood a
better chance of survival by following in Jerrod’s wake, than by striking out for
themselves into the beastman-haunted landscape. Many a Chaos worshipper
had underestimated these peasants, thinking them weak and cowardly. Both of
these judgements were true, but the warriors of the mob were also desperate,
which counted for more than strength or valour in those terrible times.

32 | Chapter 1
THE THRONG OF DOOM
As the Emperor loosed his final charge against the forces of Chaos, the dwarfs held firm upon the eastern wall.
They had chosen their killing ground, and would fight to the death in its defence – so swore the deeping kin of
the mountains.

UNGRIM IRONFIST
The crown of Karak Kadrin lay heavy on Ungrim’s brow, for it was a reminder
of those he had failed. With each day that passed, the king’s need to fulfil his
slayer’s oath grew. Only in glorious death would his honour, and that of his
line, be restored. This fatalism did not go unmarked by the other dwarfs in
Averheim. By the time of Archaon’s assault, some looked to the leadership of
the runesmith Gotri Hammerson, rather than Ungrim Ironfist. Some, but far
from all. Such had been the losses inflicted upon the dwarf realms, that those
who had taken the slayer oath outnumbered those who had not.

GOTRI HAMMERSON
Few of Zhufbar’s runesmiths escaped THE FIREBORN
the hold’s fall, and Gotri Hammerson WAR-THRONG
was the eldest of those who remained.
Like Ungrim, he was determined that Ungrim, Incarnate of Fire
dwarfs and men would fight together
against the hordes of Chaos, and felt Argunn One-Eye
only deep shame that more of his Daemon Slayer
kin did not agree. Nonetheless, there
were enough dwarfs amongst the Greki the Mad
dispossessed Zhufbarak who believed Dragon Slayer
as Hammerson did. Thus did the
runesmith bring a respectable-sized The Sons of Kazakrendum
throng to Averheim’s walls. Six throngs of Slayers and
Giant Slayers

THE ZHUFBARAK
Gotri Hammerson
Runelord

The Zhufbar Firebores

Three throngs of Thunderers,
one of Dwarf Warriors,
two batteries of Cannons and
one of Organ Guns

The Ironclads
One throng of Ironbreakers,
one throng of Irondrakes
THE SONS OF KAZAKRENDUM
Slayers were a common sight in Averheim during those final days. Believing the
The Holzengard
fire-imbued Ungrim to be none other than Grimnir reborn, they had flocked to
One throng of Hammerers
his side, certain that the king would lead them to honourable deaths. Many had
found exactly such a demise, and the rest were certain their own absolution
The Blackwater Squadron
could not be far off. For those who had taken the slayer oath, those days were One squadron of Gyrocopters
undoubtedly the Kazakrendum – the Days of Warring Doom. Not one amongst
them wished to meet the end without an axe in his hand and a bellyful of ale
(preferably Bugman’s XXXXXX).

Chapter 1 | 33
 THE BERSERKER ONSLAUGHT
During his attack on Averheim, Archaon placed his faith in the followers of Khorne. Nurgle’s children had so
nearly failed to crush Altdorf, Vilitch’s Tzeentchian host had battered upon the city’s walls to no avail, and
most of Slaanesh’s decadent followers lay far to the west, pursuing a different war.

ARCHAON EVERCHOSEN, THE THREE-EYED KING,

LORD OF THE END TIMES
Archaon had pledged to bring about the End Times, but first he pursued a more
personal cause. He had long hated the Empire, deeming it built upon the lies
of a false god. Thus, his every deed for many years had been bent towards
crushing the kingdom of Sigmar, proving once and for all the fallacy of its
inception. It had become his all-consuming goal, and he cared little for the
world-breaking acts he would be called upon to perform if Averheim fell. The
Everchosen’s ash-black armour concealed a pride so monstrous that even pale
Slaanesh admired it.

SKARR BLOODWRATH
An archetypal champion of Khorne, Skarr Bloodwrath lived only to reap skulls
for his master. He had no flair for strategy, no desire for anything save the
thudding of his daemon-axes into the flesh of his foes, and the spray of warm
blood upon his skin. Skarr had been slain many times before Averheim, but
each time, Khorne breathed new life into him before his corpse had cooled.
Such was Skarr’s unbridled battle rage that no warlord save Archaon could
hope to control him. Even Skarr’s gore-clouded mind sensed the Everchosen’s
glory, and he knelt – if unwillingly – at the feet of the Three-Eyed King.

VALKIA THE BLOODY

The Gorequeen had no lesser desire than to become Khorne’s regal consort. In
her mind, every skull she took was but the most infinitesimal part of a dowry
offered to the Blood God. Like Ka’Bandha, she saw in Archaon’s quest a chance
to earn Khorne’s fluxsome favour. However, she despised the Bloodthirster,
and even her battle-hardened Skaramor. To her, they were all brutes unworthy
of Khorne’s largesse. Their devotions were born of self-interest rather than
dedication, whilst hers sprung from a desire to please her wrathful liege.

THE SWORDS OF CHAOS

The survivors of Archaon’s old warband, the Swords of
Chaos were legend in the north. Unusually for their kind,
the Swords made no attempt to earn the favour of the gods
– they fought for Archaon’s glory. In return, they shared in
the Everchosen’s rewards – the further Archaon rose, the
mightier the Swords became. Such loyalty had a price. All
but the most driven of the Swords were steadily subsumed
by Archaon’s personality. By the time of the siege of
Averheim, all save the Everchosen’s chief lieutenants were
little more than extensions of his fearsome will. Thus were
they truly the Swords of Chaos: weapons to be unsheathed
and wielded at Archaon’s pleasure.

34 | Chapter 1
 Archaon Everchosen

The Swords of Chaos

Three dark brotherhoods of Chaos
Knights, four regiments of Chaos
Warriors, two regiments of Chosen

Skarr Bloodwrath

Valkia the Bloody

Scyla Anfingrimm

The Goremongers
Three vast warbands of Skullreapers

The Red Tide

Six warbands of Skullreapers

The Skullrage
Three regiments of Skullcrushers

THE SKULLRAGE
The oldest records of the Empire recall a warband bearing this name, whose The Swords of Slaughter
Two regiments of Skullcrushers
helms were crowned with Khorne’s skull rune. The tales told that the Skullrage
fought alongside Morkar, the first Everchosen, and for once the tales were
The Endbringers
true. In the long centuries since, the brutal knights had continued Morkar’s Two regiments of Chaos Knights
battle, refusing to bend their knee to any of the pretenders who came in their
master’s wake. Only when Archaon arose did the knights of the Skullrage The Axes of Khorne
pledge themselves to another’s cause, having seen the glory that the thirteenth One regiment of Chosen
Everchosen would bring.
Doomhost
Three warbands of Chaos Warriors

The Bloody Sword

Two warbands of Chaos Warriors

The Slaughtergard
Four warbands of Chaos Warriors

The Bloodwake
Three warbands of Wrathmongers

The Wrathkin
Three warbands of Wrathmongers

The Sons of Karamox

Three warbands of Skullreapers

Brokk
THE GOREMONGERS Chaos Giant
Thousands of skullreapers had hurled themselves at Averheim, driven by the
fervent need to prove themselves in Khorne’s eyes. The Goremongers made up Valgrokk
the bulk of these elite warriors, veterans of Valkia’s wars in Naggaroth. There, Chaos Giant
they had fought blood-mad witch elves, had beaten aside the cruel draichs of
the executioners. Walls had not saved the Naggarothi, and the Goremongers
had no fear of the stone fortress that sheltered the last true army of the Empire.

Chapter 1 | 35
 ONE LAST CHARGE
No trumpet sounded the Emperor’s struck once, staving in the champion’s Fortunately, the beast was too slow,
final charge, no strident notes beneath helm. In the same heartbeat, its uneven gait leaving it easy prey
the rain-lashed sky. There was just a Deathclaw tore the juggernaut apart, for the lances that converged upon its
bellowed prayer beneath the glorious and flung the ichor-flecked fragments leathery hide. At the same moment,
colours of the Imperial Standard, into the disordered mass. smoke billowed from a burning
a plea to the heavens that Sigmar alleyway on Jerrod’s left, a savage
and the blessed Lady might look On the Emperor’s knights drove, on war-cry echoing close behind.
favourably upon this last sacrifice. towards the grim blazon of Archaon’s
And perhaps it worked. Every man banner. They made no attempt to Crimson-armoured northlanders
who rode alongside the Emperor slay all who stood their path. It was thundered out of the darkness, their
that day knew a portion of Sigmar’s enough to drive the Skaramor aside, lances and the sheer brute force of
strength. As Jerrod’s knights set their to use the impetus of that reckless, the daemonic steeds’ impact spilling
spurs, a ghostly figure was silhouetted near-impossible charge to clear a Bretonnian knights from their saddles.
against the weeping clouds, her path. Had the knights halted, or even Jerrod hauled on his reins with one
arms spread in shelter about the slowed, it would have seen them hand, yanking his horse clear even
bold knights of the sunward realm. overwhelmed. Besides, the slaughter as he brought his sword around in
Then the prayer faded, drowned by of those left behind could be trusted a shining arc. The blessed blade
the thunder of hooves upon cobbles. to other hands. shone white as it bit down through a
Lances were lowered, swords were skull-runed shield, then blazed with
drawn, and the killing began. What little infantry remained to the fire as the duke leaned forward in his
Emperor charged home behind the saddle to drive the point deep into the
The Skaramor were little more than knights. Most were the veterans of the armoured warrior beyond. The rider
a wild mob by the time they reached assault on Vilitch’s siege camp, and bellowed once, and then slid sideways
the end of the Steilstrasse. Drunk on the memory of their unlikely victory from his saddle, but his daemon-
slaughter, and caked in the foul offal amongst Bolgen’s ruins now stirred steed came on, snarling and goring at
of those they had slain, they gave no them to glory. Thus, the northlanders Jerrod’s horse.
thought to the fact that some defiance fortunate enough to have survived
might yet remain amongst Averheim’s the initial charge now found Staccato coughs sounded to Duke
ruins. This blind arrogance cost the themselves assailed for a second time. Jerrod’s left as Matthias Corber’s
Khornate tribesmen dear. Greatswords hewed northland plate, bordermen joined the fight. Lacking
halberds hacked down, blood flowed heavy swords and lances, they had
The leading warbands met their in rivers, and then the roadway was ridden in the knights’ wake, guns
fate where the Steilstrasse and the cleared. The soldiery of the Empire, primed for firing, and wrapped up
Plenzerplatz met. Unformed and tasting their first victory in days, ran tight to protect the black powder
unready, the northlanders broke apart on through the rain, eager for more. from the torrential rain. Corber’s
as the lances tore into their flesh, and first volley was likely his last – there
battered swords clove down through Jerrod lost all track of the lives he could have been no chance to reload
their helms. Survivors reeled away, took in those wild minutes. No matter in that deluge – but he had timed it to
mangled stumps and ragged wounds how many warbands of northlanders perfection all the same.
gushing blood onto a roadway already were scattered by the headlong
slick with gore. charge, there was always another Flame lanced across the alleyway’s
between the knights and their foe. mouth, and bullets thudded and
The ground shook as a bellowing Worse, the deeper into the Steilstrasse clanged into the skullcrushers. A
northlander champion, his steed a the knights rode, the more alleyways dozen shots struck the juggernaut to
thing of cursed metal and daemonic and side streets opened up to their Jerrod’s front. Most were deflected,
fury, barrelled forward to meet flanks – arteries of the dying city cheated by the beast’s brass hide,
the knightly charge. His rune-axe that now spurted wild foes onto the but enough hammered through the
swung in a great arc, beheading one Steilstrasse’s broad stones. plates and into its barrel chest. The
Reiksguard and striking another from juggernaut reared up, steaming
his saddle. Then there was a piercing Ahead and to his right, Jerrod saw blood pulsing from its wounds, then
screech, and the axe-wielder vanished a monstrous spawn – all flailing slammed down onto the roadway
beneath a mass of blood-matted tentacles and gnashing teeth – come with enough force to shatter the
feathers. The Emperor’s hammer reeling out of one such crossway. cobblestones. Caught between the

36 | Chapter 1
fury of Imperial gunnery and stalwart mind, begging to be unleashed. For
Bretonnian steel, the remainder of the now, however, the wizard knew he
knights fared no better. Before the had the strength to resist. With a
limp smoke had cleared, Jerrod was sharp word of command, he urged
spurring onward through the rain. Quicksilver down towards Averheim.

High above, Balthasar Gelt had at last On the east wall, many of Ungrim’s
come to Averheim, and what he saw slayers met the deaths they had
made him sick to his very stomach. desired for so long. They had done
The rain hid much, but it could not so gloriously, felling wave after wave
conceal the fact that the city had of maddened Skaramor, with a skill
fallen. Northlanders surged about that even the most battle-hardened
the walls and through the streets. of the northlanders would never have
They were as multitudinous and as possessed. The dwarfs fought upon
implacable as a swarm of ants, the the rampart of the Magnusspitze.
red and black of their armour sinister Their ring of axes had begun ten
in the midday gloom. deep, but now was a mere three or
four at its thickest point. Crimson-
The wizard deftly guided Quicksilver clad corpses lay scattered across the
down through the plumes of choking Magnusspitze’s stones, proof that the
smoke, his eyes frantically searching fallen slayers had died well, but they
for survivors, or any sign that battle lay never so thick as where Ungrim
yet raged. Too late, he saw the flock of Ironfist’s ancestral axe swung its
furies swooping down upon him, their wicked arcs.
harsh voices screeching hungrily at
the prospect of a feast. Long had the dwarfs held out, but
now it seemed that their doom was
Gelt’s instinct was to reach for the at last come. Scyla Anfingrimm had
necromantic magics he had relied on followed his slaughterer’s instinct
of late. With an effort, he crushed the to the Magnusspitze, and the truest
urge, immersing himself instead in savages of Archaon’s host had come
the half-forgotten alchemical spells in his wake. There were axe-wielding
he had once relied upon. Casting his warriors neither fully man nor wholly
hands wide, the wizard sent beams beast; mutated giants, who sought
of searing golden light into the to silence their own eternal agonies
ruddy-winged flock. The spell was in the death-screams of their foes;
fitful at first, the energies hissing and forsaken warriors, cast adrift from the
sparking through the rain, but grew gods’ shifting gaze and onto the path
in strength as Gelt’s confidence grew. of spawndom. And there were scores
The wizard realised that Chamon, the of mindless spawn, come leaping,
Wind of Metal, was gusting stronger slithering, running and crawling
across Averheim with every passing across Averheim’s stones, drawn to
moment. He did not know why, nor Scyla by some unknown instinct.
at that moment did he particularly
care. Golden light sizzled and spat as While the Skaramor had been held
it touched daemonic flesh, burning a upon the Magnusspitze’s stairs
dozen furies to ash in an eye-blink, and fought a few dozen at a time,
and sending the rest to flight. there was no way to contain Scyla’s
howling host. With gangling limbs
For a long moment thereafter, Gelt and snapping maws, the wretches
gave Quicksilver no orders, but circled hauled their way up the tower’s
silent amongst the smoke and the flanks, bursting onto the ramparts.
rain. He was breathing hard, but felt The Sons of Kazakrendum fought
more like himself than he had for back-to-back, death-songs swelling
many long months. He could feel a into low and beautiful harmony as the
darkness caged at the back of his brutes came on.
Axes hacked down into twisted flesh massive knuckled fist slammed full
and were wrenched free. Even so, into the Slayer King’s face, buckling
the slayers died, crushed beneath his gromril helm and pulverising his
the dying monsters, or torn apart by oft-broken nose. The other closed
talons and snapping maws. about the cloak of ruddy dragon
scales that hung from Ungrim’s
Ungrim Ironfist held his ground at the shoulders. The dwarf was yanked
top of the Magnusspitze’s stairway. from his feet, the Axe of Dargo
The Slayer King’s arms were weary, slipping from his fingers. Once, twice,
and the Axe of Dargo notched in many three times, Scyla brandished the
places. Yet still Ungrim fought on, his king as an improvised flail, scattering
inviolate will buttressed by a power slayers left and right with each swing.
he did not truly understand. The fury On the third swing, Ungrim’s straining
of Aqshy, the Wind of Fire, bubbled fingers closed upon the haft of a runic
and raged in Ungrim’s flesh. Flame axe. As Scyla drew back his arm for a
spun around him like a living cloak, fourth time, the king let fly.
burning unclean beasts to ash, but
leaving nearby slayers unmarked. Fire Flames trailed behind the axe as it
burst from his lips with every battle travelled the short distance to its
cry, flooding down the worn steps to target. Ungrim had aimed for the
sweep them clean of the brutes who centre of Scyla’s forehead, but his
gathered there. corkscrewing motion made his aim
less than steady. Scyla’s sudden
A giant lurched out of the flames, howl of pain echoed across the
flesh crackling and ablaze. Its club, Magnusspitze as the axe-blade bit
a gnarled tree trunk, smashed deep into the brow above the spawn’s
down towards the Slayer King’s right eye, shattering the bone and
helm. Ungrim dove aside, the strike pulping the beady orb beneath.
intended to crush him flat instead Clapping a massive hand to his face,
pulverising the stones upon which he Scyla instinctively released Ungrim
had stood. The Axe of Dargo swept from his grasp.
out, fire rippling along its blade, and
the giant fell forward, hamstrung and The Slayer King bounced twice,
roaring in pain. A moment later, the then landed heavily alongside the
brute fell silent, for Ungrim’s second corpse of the giant he had slain.
strike had buried the axe-blade in the Half-blind and wild with fury, Scyla
giant’s brain. leapt towards Ungrim once more.
Rising to his full height, Ungrim
It was then that Scyla struck. The twisted the smouldering Axe of Dargo
monstrous spawn came bounding up free from the giant’s corpse. As a
the Magnusspitze’s stair on all fours, clubbing fist came about to strike
knuckling the ground with every leap. the king’s head from his shoulders,
His scaled shoulders barged through Ungrim ducked low under the
the knot of mutated warriors gathered brute’s swing and back-cut his axe
at the stairway’s head, uncaring that across the spawn’s muscled belly.
the impact sent his allies tumbling to Thick blood spilled from the sudden
their deaths far below. Ungrim saw wound, drenching Ungrim’s right
the danger, tried to wrench his axe- side. Scyla gave a second anguished
blade free of the giant’s skull, but the howl. His hindquarters scrabbled
steel was caught fast in a prison of uselessly upon the bloody stones, but
dead flesh. could not halt the momentum of his
charge. The spawn struck the edge
Scyla was on top of the Slayer King a of the Magnusspitze’s parapet with a
heartbeat later. Flames licked at the sickening crunch, then plunged over
spawn’s black-furred arms, but he the edge into the smoked-wreathed
forged on, insensate to the pain. One sky beyond.
Ungrim could not know whether More northlanders charged into the been waiting for other forces to
his foe had survived the plunge, press of combat, and their axes threw converge before he launched his own
but he saw plainly that the tide of two Reiksguard from their saddles. attack. Despite the sudden ill turn in
aberrations had slackened. Peering For a moment, Schwarzhelm was fortunes, the Emperor’s Champion felt
through the rain and the smoke to alone amidst a knot of enemies, his his spirits soar. If the Everchosen still
the east wall below, he saw why. sword battering against grotesque believed he could be defeated, then by
Even through the murk, he could see shields. A lance point, too swift to Sigmar’s will perhaps he could.
tight gromril-clad ranks marching parry, took him high in the shoulder,
along the rampart, the dull blaze of thrusting clean through the pauldron The defenders’ chances of victory
drakeguns hissing through the rain and driving deep into the flesh behind. had never been great, but now they
and the thunder of gyrocopter blades Biting back a shout of pain, the began to slide further into ruin. Even
in the skies above. The Zhufbarak had Emperor’s Champion twisted off the well-rested, it would have taken three
come, and Ungrim’s fulfilment of the blade, then thrust his own through his Reiksguard to match a single one of
slayer’s oath would have to wait. opponent’s visor. There was a brief Archaon’s knights, and the warriors
roar, then the weight upon his sword of the Empire were weary beyond
Far across the city, the Emperor’s vanished, and the knight collapsed words. The Swords of Chaos’ counter-
company were losing momentum, onto the cobbles. charge had robbed all momentum
but their goal was in sight. Perhaps from the Emperor’s assault. What had
half the knights who had begun the A chorus of screeches sounded as been a spear of righteous vengeance,
charge still rode beneath the Imperial the Knights Griffon pounced into the aimed at the Everchosen’s head, was
Standard – the rest were dead, or had battle alongside Schwarzhelm, their now a stymied and shrinking ring of
fallen behind to battle the Skaramor mounts biting and clawing. Moments desperate soldiers.
who still poured from the alleys along later, the Emperor was alongside, his
the Steilstrasse. Their weapons were lightning arcing across the packed Skarr Bloodwrath led the charge
dulled with use, their arms heavy with ranks. Never had Schwarzhelm from the Steilstrasse’s north side.
exhaustion, but not one amongst them felt less of a bodyguard. Whatever He had already claimed many skulls
considered flight. transformation the Emperor had for Khorne that day, but thirsted for
undergone amidst the ruins of Altdorf, greater glory. He found it at once,
Jerrod’s arms ached, and his skull it had left him stronger and hardier his warband’s blades falling first
pounded, his body beset by the than any warrior Schwarzhelm upon a lance of Jerrod’s knights. The
weariness of battling without rest. had ever known. Was that why the champion’s axes bit down, cleaving
Each sword-blow came harder and Everchosen did not join the battle? he sons of vanished Bretonnia from their
harder, driven home as much by wondered. Was Karl Franz now so saddles, and then the Skaramor were
determination as by physical might mighty that even the famed Lord of the streaming past him, searching for
alone. The duke was amazed at End Times feared to meet him without their own skull-trophies in the chaos
how Karl Franz seemingly felt no first taking his measure? If that were so, of the Steilstrasse.
weariness. He found himself praying then seemingly the Everchosen had
that whatever power sustained the waited enough, for at that moment a Jerrod saw his brothers fall, and
Emperor would not expend itself baleful horn sounded and the Swords spurred his steed towards their
before the battle was done and the of Chaos spurred into the fray. murderers. Bretonnians rode to his
gold-helmed Everchosen slain. side, and Reiksguard too, lances and
The Chaos knights struck with all swords levelled. The distance was too
Ahead of Jerrod, Ludwig Schwarzhelm the force of a landslide, their impact short and the blood-slicked cobbles
felt no such weariness, but could not spilling Reiksguard and Knights too treacherous for the charge to
tell whether his strength sprang from Griffon bloodily to the cobbles. gain its full crushing momentum,
desperation, or because Sigmar’s Archaon rode in the first rank, his but Jerrod’s knights made it count all
blessing was truly upon him. A jagged dark blade gleaming as it clove the same. Lances punched through
lance lunged for Schwarzhelm’s belly. armour and flesh asunder. In that breastplates, skulls shattered beneath
He struck the point aside with the same moment, blood-mad howls blessed steel, and Skaramor were
Imperial Standard, then swung the sounded from the alleyways to ground beneath purebred hooves.
Sword of Justice to open his attacker’s either side. Skaramor flooded into Jerrod hacked down at Skarr’s head,
throat to the bone. Through the the Steilstrasse, in numbers greater the blade of his sword a silver flame
driving rain, he could see black-clad than any since the charge had in the crimson dark. The strike bit
knights waiting in attendance around begun. Schwarzhelm realised that deep into an axe-haft, and then the
their gold-helmed king, and wondered the Everchosen had not been taking charge’s momentum carried Jerrod
why they did not join the battle. Karl Franz’s measure at all, but had further along the road.

Chapter 1 | 39
 Skarr bellowed with laughter at the ribs. He brought up his sword to parry and unfurling as she flew above and
duke’s sudden curse, then flung the thrust, but weariness and the around the battling knights. Slaupnir
his axes into the press of knights. surprise of Valkia’s assault worked was cradled like a lance against her
The daemon-wrought metal arced against him. The spear-tip scraped unwounded arm, her eyes gleaming
wide, then reversed direction as the across his breastplate, then shivered with anticipation. She knew that her
champion yanked hard upon the a thick splinter from the Imperial prey would not escape her a third
chains. One axe-blade sliced through Standard’s banner pole. time. What was more, Schwarzhelm
gorget and spine, beheading a knight knew it also.
at the charge’s rear. The other’s chain Hissing at her thwarted strike,
snagged upon an upright lance. It Valkia took wing. Swooping down With a last burst of strength, the
whirled once around the wielder, on Schwarzhelm, she stabbed her Emperor’s Champion grasped tight
the chain biting tight. Before the spear towards his open helm. The upon the Imperial Standard with
knight could spur away, Skarr hauled Emperor’s Champion was ready for both hands, bringing the splintered
hard on the chain. The struggling the attack, and the Sword of Justice end of the banner pole up like a
victim was dragged from his saddle, struck Slaupnir’s spear-tip halfway spear. Slaupnir’s tip tore through
across the stones to the Skarr’s feet. along its length, deflecting the Schwarzhelm’s breastplate, piercing
Before the knight could roll clear, the Gorequeen’s thrust wide of his helm. his valiant heart and killing him
champion’s first axe smacked back With a deftness that few others in the instantly. He did not die alone.
into his meaty palm, then hissed Empire could match, Schwarzhelm’s Valkia’s momentum drove her onto
down to cleave the Bretonnian’s head parry turned into an effortless riposte. the Emperor’s Champion’s impromptu
from his shoulders. The point of his blade tore through spear, the heartwood shaft punching
Valkia’s steel-clad forearm, tracing a through her armour and shattering
Throwing back his head, Skarr bloody line halfway to her elbow. her spine. For a long moment,
bellowed his offering to the Lord of the two corpses were frozen in a
Skulls. The harsh cry choked off as The Gorequeen shrieked and soared grisly tableau, the dead locked in
Jerrod, closing on the champion from away, hooves lashing out wildly. One battle amongst the living. Then a
behind, hacked down through Skarr’s struck the side of Schwarzhelm’s skullcrusher’s juggernaut thundered
armoured shoulder. The blessed blade head, the other tore the Sword of over the pair, its brass hooves
sliced through the champion’s knotted Justice from his hand. The steel spun trampling their ruined flesh into the
sinews, and deep into his ribcage. across the roadway, lost in the melee muddy ground.
Bloodwrath was dead before he hit between the Reiksguard and the
the ground. Swords of Chaos, and Schwarzhelm In the same moment that
was defenceless. Schwarzhelm fell, the tides of battle
Corber’s bordermen fought at last brought the Emperor before
alongside the knights now, and Valkia swooped again, her spear the Lord of the End Times. A strange
paid for their temerity in blood. swinging round in a two-handed grip. silence fell upon the battlefield as
Skullcrushers hacked apart the Schwarzhelm’s armour held under the Archaon’s eyes locked with those of
Carroburg Greatswords’ left flank, impact, but he was thrown sideways his foe. The sense of destiny defied
only to be driven back themselves as from the saddle, the Imperial Standard was electric in the air, the sense of
Schwarzhelm led a charge of Knights still clasped tight in his gauntleted fate sheering loose of the path set
Griffon into the fray. With every hands. Over and over he rolled, for it. Then the Everchosen swept
passing moment, the last defenders hooves thudding all around as the the Slayer of Kings forward, and the
of Averheim grew fewer, and the Swords of Chaos vied with the bold moment was lost.
Skaramor grew more numerous. knights of the Reiksguard. Planting
the jagged tip of his banner against Archaon did not ride to face the
Schwarzhelm was riding back to the the cobbles, Schwarzhelm heaved Emperor at once. Rather, his sword-
Emperor’s side when Valkia attacked. himself upright, then went sprawling stroke had been a signal to the
Archaon might have prior claim on once more as a black-barded steed knights who rode at his side. Closing
the weakling Emperor, but there were slammed into his back. The Chaos their heavy visors, they spurred
other trophies to be had in Averheim knight rode on, sword swinging to towards Deathclaw, lances braced and
that day. Valkia sought to claim the split a Bretonnian’s skull. axes ready in their hands. Not one
Imperial Standard – and the skull of of the Swords of Chaos reached their
he who bore it – as tokens to lay at Before Schwarzhelm could right target. Those who were not reduced
Khorne’s feet. Schwarzhelm was still himself a second time, Valkia was to cinders by the Emperor’s lightning
turning to face the Gorequeen when on him once more. She came with a were torn from their steeds by the
the spear Slaupnir lunged towards his blood-curdling scream, wings furling griffon’s talons.

40 | Chapter 1
Archaon remained motionless as his All but blinded by the hissing rain, the dwarfs to march west, to aid his
knights were slaughtered. Only when Gelt urged Quicksilver downwards. beleaguered countrymen, but met
the brief battle was done did he offer Dead ahead, a Zhufbarak gun line with stark refusal. It wasn’t that
the Emperor a small nod, which could loomed out of the murk, their barrels the mountain folk were unwilling.
have been the barest of salutes, or aimed directly at Gelt’s approach. An Indeed, their ancient oaths of alliance
could equally have been satisfied Imperial company might have been practically insisted they do as much.
foresight of the contest to come. startled into firing by the wizard’s But even Ungrim, his spirit filled with
Then the Everchosen barked a harsh sudden arrival, but not the stoic Grimnir’s fire, could see no purpose
command, and Dorghar surged across warriors of Zhufbar. A deep voice in marching from the Magnusspitze
the offal-strewn cobbles. bellowed at the thunderers to hold, to perish in the streets without ever
giving Gelt time to bank clear of the gaining sight of the Emperor.
The bloody brawl in the Steilstrasse firing zone. As Quicksilver’s hooves
might have been sliding towards cleared the runic banner-top, the As another Skaramor attack crashed
disaster for the Empire, but the elder’s voice split the air again, closely against the fortified summit, Gelt took
contest for the Magnusspitze was followed by the rippling report of his place in the battle line. The whole
another matter. Whilst Ungrim’s two-score handguns. The furies, their of his conscious mind was taken up
forces were still heavily beset, the minds still bent upon the hunt, had no by need for redemption. Had he come
arrival of the Zhufbarak had shifted time to get clear. Lead shot hammered so far only to fail at the last? The old
the battle from a losing proposition to through the air, ripping the daemons cantrips and conjurations flowed back
a grinding stalemate. to shreds. into his mind like water reclaiming
a dusty riverbed. His spells became
The slayers’ rune-axes had flared into instinctive, his harnessing of Chamon
fresh life with Gotri Hammerson’s unthinking reflex. The Wind of Metal
arrival, their ancient magic waking at was thick about him, singing to him,
the runesmith’s command. Moreover, urging him to seize control and wield
the cunning mechanisms of the its power. Even so, Gelt resisted. So
dwarfen guns had yielded little to the soon freed from one glamour, he did
rain, and their clockwork volleys had not wish to risk abandoning his spirit
done much to keep the Skaramor at to another. Instead, he drew slivers of
bay. Yet the warriors of Chaos still power from the wind’s trailing edge,
recklessly hurled themselves into the fashioning them into gleaming spears
teeth of the leaden gale, uncaring of and scalding vapours.
the lives lost in the striving. Even the
unrelenting fury of a pair of organ As the blood of northlanders and
guns, hauled nearly a mile along dwarfs mingled on the stones, Gelt
battered and crumbling battlements, cast about for another solution to the
had done little to demoralise the Emperor’s plight. If the dwarfs could
blood-crazed attackers. Axe-work not march, another way would have to
was still the currency of survival on be found. Unbidden, his mind drifted
the Magnusspitze. back to the pale girl in the shadowed
tavern, back before he had fallen into
It was into this slaughter that damnation. Magic is rising, she had
Quicksilver bore his master. The Gelt found Ungrim and Hammerson said. Much is now possible that was not
surviving furies had managed to shortly thereafter, and learned from before. Somehow he had forgotten
regain their courage, and harried them the full horror of Averheim’s fall. those words, had blamed them for
Gelt during his descent. Dozens of Reviled though the alchemist’s name his descent into the forbidden, but
the winged daemons had paid dearly might have become in the Empire, no there was truth there nonetheless. He
for their pursuit, seared from the word of his slide into damnation had remembered the books of lore from
sky by burning light or transmuted reached the dwarfs. Gelt found some the college vaults, recalled one spell
into harmless golden statues that relief in this, but knew that it merely – the Crucible – whose power was so
had plunged to the ground far below. deferred the debt he had yet to repay. great that no wizard had been able to
But hunger held the survivors in its harness it since the founding of the
merciless grip, and the feast at the Peering out to the west, the wizard college. But Gelt could feel Chamon
end of the chase loomed far larger in saw lightning streaming from the thick about him, begging to be
their tiny minds than the danger that clouds – proof, to his mind at least, harnessed to great works. Much was
lay in-between. that the Emperor still lived. He urged now possible that was not before.

Chapter 1 | 41
 When the next Skaramor assault fought a private battle. The Swords of At last, the hammer of light bashed
broke apart, Gelt spoke hurriedly Chaos formed a ring of swords, a wall Archaon’s shield aside. The next blow
of his intention to Ungrim and of blades to prevent the Reiksguard – struck home against the Everchosen’s
Hammerson. The dwarfs were or indeed any other – from interfering armour with a dull clang, the sound
suspicious, but willing. Neither of in the Everchosen’s duel. almost muffled by Archaon’s bellow
them had any desire to perish battling of pain. But that small victory had
the horde’s leavings whilst the real The power of Azyr made the Emperor left the Emperor’s own defences
fight lay elsewhere, and if the manling Archaon’s physical equal, and the dangerously weakened, and the Slayer
could deliver them to another fate, desperation of the moment spurred of Kings flashed out to take advantage
then so be it. him to match the Everchosen blow of the opening.
for blow. Metallic clamour rang out
As gunfire again rocked the as U’zuhl and the hammer of light Deathclaw saw the blow coming
Magnusspitze, Gelt took wing to the clashed, daemonfire and lightning before his master did. The griffon
tower’s centre and thrust the Staff sparking with every blow. As their reared away from the attack, but too
of Volans deep between its stones. masters strove, Deathclaw and slow. Instead of the blade striking
Closing his eyes, the wizard flung Dorghar clawed and bit, red wounds the Emperor’s neck, as Archaon had
out his arms, opening his spirit wide opening up on the griffon’s flanks, and intended, it slammed home against
to Chamon. And the Wind of Metal, steaming blood welling up through the Deathclaw’s skull. Had that blow
which had searched for a mortal daemon-steed’s thick hide. found its intended mark, it would have
vessel since the Great Vortex had sent the Emperor’s head tumbling
been unmade, rushed to embrace from his shoulders. As it was, the
him. There was a blinding flash, griffon slumped sideways with a
and a pulse of heat swept over the muffled screech, blood oozing from
remustering Skaramor. All across a deep wound in his scalp, senses
the Magnusspitze’s summit, molten struck clean away by force of the
gold flowed into the cracks in the impact. Deathclaw might live, if any
stonework. Of Gelt and the dwarfs, survived that day, but the Emperor
there was no sign. had lost his firmest ally upon that
bloody field.
Battle still raged along the
Steilstrasse. Pockets of Imperial Thrown from his saddle by
soldiers fought back-to-back as The Emperor called lightning from Deathclaw’s collapse, the Emperor
skullreapers hacked through their the skies, the bolts breaking apart rode the momentum of his fall and
ranks. The men of Carroburg and and crackling across Archaon’s black rolled first to his knees, and then
Quenelles, of Ostland and Altdorf armour. The Everchosen countered rose to his feet just as Dorghar
felt despair rise up like bile. Yet with sorceries of his own, sending crashed home. The Slayer of Kings
each time hopelessness threatened multicoloured fire to embrace his foe. arced down as the daemon-steed
to overwhelm them, they recalled Each time the flames licked close, hurtled past, tearing a bloody rent
friends and comrades lost, families the seal upon the Emperor’s armour through the Emperor’s armoured
slaughtered by the northlander horde, glowed white, and the fires shimmered back. The hammer of light swung out
and these memories held them firm. into harmless smoke. Back and forth in exchange, but the Emperor was
Better to fight on as long as possible, the magics strove, their light and fury tiring, and Dorghar too fast. The blow
to make the foe labour and bleed for counterpoint to the clash of sword missed, and Archaon laughed at a foe
victory. They dug deep into reserves and hammer. so nearly humbled.
of strength and courage never before
known, spat and clawed at the Again and again the blows rang The Everchosen did not urge Dorghar
northlanders even as death took them. out, weaving a dance so swift and to the charge for a second time.
At no time in the Empire’s glorious perfect that it seemed rehearsed. All Instead, he walked his steed to the
history had so many fought so bravely around, northlanders and Imperials Emperor’s side. As the Swords of
with so little hope of victory, and that collapsed amongst the rain-sodden Chaos pressed closer, shrinking the
their deaths would go unremembered dead as their skill failed them, but duelling-ground, Archaon readied his
only added to the tragedy. still Everchosen and Emperor fought. blade to strike the look of defiance
Daemonfire rained down amongst from the other’s brow.
In the centre of the street, where the duelling circle, setting light to the
the statue of Heinrich Leitdorf had dead trampled underfoot, but still the
once stood, Emperor and Everchosen battle raged.

42 | Chapter 1
‘F or years, I have heard tell of Karl Franz, greatest
Emperor since Sigmar himself.’
Archaon hacked down, the Slayer of Kings blazing
reversed, running back into the roiling clouds like water
somehow drawn up into a faucet.
To Archaon’s surprise, the Emperor was on his feet
with fire. The Emperor’s hammer came up. There was a before the last of the lightning had faded, gauntleted fist
clang of metal upon metal. The hammer shuddered, but swinging. The Everchosen laughed and swung his shield
held. Archaon ripped the blade back, and swung again. wide. The heavy steel caught the Emperor across the
‘The power mantled upon your shoulders is not your face and chest, knocking him to the ground once more,
own. I will strip it from you, and return it to its true blood streaming from his face.
master, the Changer of Ways.’ Archaon advanced a pace, his blade ready in his hand.
Again the Slayer of Kings swept out, and again the ‘Pathetic. The lightning has fled, and you are scarcely
Emperor’s hammer of light came about to block the worth the effort of killing. You have no army, no Empire.
blow. This time, however, there was no metallic chime. No god favours you. No god cares if you live or die.’
Instead, there was a brittle sound, as of glass shattering ‘Perhaps,’ the Emperor said, ‘but I possess something
beneath a boot heel, and the hammer of light exploded that you will never have.’
into fragments. Archaon snorted with amusement. ‘Really? Enlighten
At once, lightning coursed from the sky. This time, it me. What could you possibly have that I lack?’
did not arc out towards Archaon, but struck the Emperor Too late, he detected the build-up of magic, and knew
with its full fury. He stood defiant beneath the onslaught that Karl Franz had somehow sensed it first.
for a heartbeat, then bent double, and at last fell to his The Emperor wiped blood from his broken mouth, and
knees. In the skies above, the flow of lightning suddenly smiled. ‘Hope.’

The golden glow that suddenly flared Under Hammerson’s steady gaze, Slayers burst in through the gap their
across the Steilstrasse could be the Zhufbarak fought to relieve the king had made, and the shield wall
seen all across Averheim. Before the embattled humans. They hacked began to collapse from the inside.
flash had faded, molten gold came the Skaramor apart even as the Ahead of them, Ungrim reached
running up through the cracks in northlanders attempted to do the Archaon just as the Everchosen
the cobblestones. It rose over the same to those who remained from brought his sword around to end the
dead and wounded, reforming into the Emperor’s charge. Ungrim Ironfist Emperor’s life. The axe blade bit into
hundreds of statues that stood silent was moving before the golden light the Slayer of King’s daemon-steel
amongst the raging battle. A second had fully faded from his body, the inches above its guard, throwing
flash followed a heartbeat later, and Axe of Dargo cleaving true through the killing strike wide and sending
the statues were statues no more, but a Skaramor chieftain. The slayerkin Archaon staggering back. Ungrim
dwarfs ready and eager for battle. came behind their king, a blur of axes, pressed on, fire trailing in his wake,
foreheads and fists that swept over but the Everchosen’s shield stood as a
This was the magic of the Crucible: the northlanders. bulwark against every attack.
the ability to turn living flesh to
biddable metal, and back again Without a word, Archaon’s warband Balthasar Gelt stood amidst a
without harm. Gelt had toyed with shifted to face the new danger. The widening circle of dwarfen shields.
such magics for decades, but the ring of swords was abandoned as Even with Chamon bound within his
results had never been less than fatal. thick shields clanged together. They blood, the Crucible had taken much
Only that day, with Chamon’s voice need not have bothered. Ungrim out of the wizard. For a time, he had
sharp and clear in his mind, and its Ironfist had fought in more shield been vulnerable, unable to defend
power streaming through his blood, walls than he could remember, and even himself, but now his strength
could the wizard have achieved such could spot their weaknesses as plain was returning. He saw the Zhufbarak
a feat – much less been able to have as gromril ore in worthless rock. The had made good on their attempt to
the transmuted ore flow like a river Slayer King’s axe came down. It clove rescue the survivors of the Emperor’s
through the bedrock. Even so, the apart two shields that were a fraction charge, and also that Ungrim’s
casting had been imperfect, and not less steady than those to either side, slayerkin held the Swords of Chaos in
all the transmuted had been restored. and left one of Archaon’s warriors in abeyance. And yet he also saw that
Scores of dwarfs would never fight two meaty halves upon the ground. his allies were still outnumbered into
again, would last until the end of the Another northlander waited beyond, infinity. Time had to be bought if there
world in their new, auric forms, but swinging for Ungrim’s head, but the were to be any chance of survival.
counting the cost would have to wait. blade glanced off his crown, and its Gelt called out the magic shackled to
For now, there was a battle to fight. owner fell lifeless a moment after. his soul, and again it responded.

Chapter 1 | 43
 All across the Steilstrasse, the
weapons and armour of the dead
answered Gelt’s call. At first, the
T he Emperor was still on one knee as Gelt approached. The wizard
slid from Quicksilver’s saddle, and offered a hand to his liege.
‘You found your way home?’ the Emperor asked, and Gelt knew he
metal shifted and writhed. Then it wasn’t talking about the journey from Sylvania to Averheim.
flowed in streams and rivulets across ‘Eventually,’ the wizard replied, grunting with effort as he hauled the
the Steilstrasse, rippling past the other to his feet. ‘I will atone, if you will allow it.’
battle’s outer edge. There, urged ‘Today was a good start, I think.’ The Emperor’s face was inscrutable,
by Gelt’s will, it surged skyward, but Gelt felt a part of his burden slip away. ‘Whether any of us will see
hardening and thickening as more of another dawn, however...’
the molten ore reached the chosen Across the refuge, wounded moaned. Able-bodied men and dwarfs
perimeter. Inch by inch, a towering walked amongst them, tending what harms they could, and ending the
wall of steel grew to surround the misery of those who were beyond salvation. To the north, the slayerkin,
heart of the street, severing those denied battle by the wall of steel, slaughtered the northlanders cornered
who fought at Archaon’s side from the on their side of the wall. Then, they brought forth whetstones and honed
teeming horde in the city beyond. their axes. They knew, as Gelt did, that the battle was not yet ended.
The Emperor walked the four paces to where Schwarzhelm’s mangled
No longer surrounded by the foe, the body lay, recognisable only because of the tattered yellows of the
men of the Empire and of Bretonnia Imperial Standard. Gelt saw his lips move, but heard none of the words.
found their last dregs of strength. This was partly because they were so softly spoken, but mostly because
They sounded no battle cries, for they the greater part of his concentration was given over to keeping his wall
had no breath with which to offer of steel hale under the northlanders’ blows. Time was running out.
them, but came forward all the same, ‘What did you do that for, lad?’ Ungrim’s angry voice cut across Gelt’s
trapping the frothing northlanders thoughts. ‘I was about to cleave his gilded helm from his shoulders.’
between their blades and the axes of ‘You were not, Lord King,’ the Emperor corrected, looking up at last
the Zhufbarak. from Schwarzhelm’s body. ‘I thought as you did, but the gods have
lavished their power upon him. He has grown too mighty. None of us can
Only to the north, where Everchosen match him alone.’
and Ironfist clashed, was Gelt’s wall ‘Then we’ll face him together, you and I!’ Ungrim growled.
slow to form. Neither Archaon nor his Gelt saw Karl Franz shake his head. ‘My power is lost to me. We can
foe had eyes for the miracle working die, or we can flee.’ The Emperor shifted his gaze to Gelt. ‘Assuming the
all about them. Each knew that to tear option of flight is open to us.’
his gaze from the other was to invite Gelt looked around the refuge he had created, trying to ignore the
death. Archaon’s black armour was pounding in his head whose timing matched precisely with the sword-
battered and dented in many places, and axe-blows on the wall of steel.
whilst Ungrim’s dragon cloak hung ‘I cannot take us all,’ he said at last, ‘and I cannot take us far.’
in tatters, but neither had yet truly ‘Then leave me and mine behind,’ Ungrim commanded. ‘The Sons of
gained mastery of the other, and nor Kazakrendum will make these dufkrak regret they came to Averheim.’
would they at that hour. As Archaon ‘Out of the question,’ said the Emperor. ‘We will not abandon you.’
drew back his sword for another A deafening bellow sounded from the south-east, drawing Gelt’s gaze,
mighty blow, Gelt’s molten wall and the gaze of every warrior yet alive within the refuge. High above and
flowed silently up between the Slayer far distant, a Bloodthirster’s monstrous form was silhouetted upon the
King and the Everchosen, separating Averburg’s outer wall. Harsh horn-cries and thousands of cruel voices
them. Ungrim’s roar of frustration rose up from the fortress in answer, and the clanging against the refuge
was echoed from the other side of wall grew louder.
the barricade – Archaon was no less Ungrim took a step forward, his voice low. ‘Listen lad, we’re dealt what
sanguine about a battle denied than we’re dealt: either some of us die, or all of us do. Take your manlings,
was his foe. take the lads from Zhufbar, and go.’
The Emperor hesitated, then gave a slow nod. Away to the south, a
For a span, silence reigned within the second bellow announced that the Bloodthirster had left his eyrie.
metal wall, a deep breath before the Gelt wasted no more time, but reached into Chamon once again,
plunge. Then the sound of chiming savouring the strange metallic taste that came with it. His vision swam
metal carried clear through the rain beneath golden light as the magic took over. His last glimpse before the
as the northlanders battered at Gelt’s transmutation was of Karl Franz offering Ungrim an old dwarfen salute,
barricade. Knowing that the wall and the last sound he heard was the Slayer King addressing the Sons of
would not hold for long, the wizard Kazakrendum one last time.
hastened to his fallen Emperor’s side. ‘Axes up, lads. We’ll give these krinkaz a fight they’ll not soon forget!’

46 | Chapter 1
 Away to the east, Vlad von Carstein
rode to within sight of Averheim,
and knew that he had come too late.
The rain had eased, and the vampire
could plainly see the baying horde loose upon
the walls, and the smoke rising from the ruined
buildings within. He could sense the slaughter
on the wind, smell the proof that the last of the
Empire’s great cities had not fallen without a fight.
But fallen it had, all the same.

With Averheim’s destruction, Vlad’s oath was

spent. His failure to uphold the promise chafed
at him. Indeed, a lesser creature might have been
tempted to make one last pointless stand, to
reclaim something of the lost honour, but Vlad
saw little point in such futile gestures. Sylvania
would need him, if it were to endure. As shafts
of sunlight at last pierced the clouds, Vlad saw
a flash of gold upon the hills to the west. Gelt at
least had reached Averheim, or so the vampire
deemed. Briefly, he wondered at the wizard’s fate,
but then dismissed it as an irrelevance.

Vlad ordered the Drakenhof Templars eastward

once more, but could not resist one final look at
Averheim’s corpse. As he was about to turn away,
a curious thing occurred. In the city’s north-west
corner a column of fire sprung up, the fury of its
birth deafening even at that distance. The orange
flames rose up like a fountain, brilliant tongues
flickering skyward.

For a moment, Vlad thought he saw a shape

amongst the fire, a bearded face, mouth bellowing
a challenge. There was a presence in the flames,
Vlad could tell, a valiant soul striking one last
blow before it passed into oblivion. Another
vampire might have sought to snare that essence,
shackle it to his will, but Vlad merely watched as
the features dissolved amongst the thermals, and
the flames smashed down upon the city below.

Roaring, black-wreathed flames tore hungrily

through the streets. The buildings in their path
collapsed like trees before a hurricane, their fall
casting up clouds of dust and soot. This choking
mass welled up over the city walls and spilled
across the Aver valley, leaving the suffocated dead
in its wake. Then the fires were gone, the soul
scattered to the winds, and silence reigned across
the valley. Turning his steed, Vlad began the long
ride home.
48 | Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
The Land of Night
Spring 2528 – Summer 2528
 Long ago, Mannfred von one of those corpses was a dagger in were whispered to Arkhan the Black,
Carstein had wrought the hand of the Great Necromancer. Nagash’s voice in all things. Mannfred
a veil of darkness and Those who had come to Sylvania to had promised himself that he would
apostasy over Sylvania earn their gods’ favour found only see the ancient liche scattered and
that had kept the sunlight dimmed, unwilling servitude in death. broken one day soon, in payment for
and the faith of outsiders muted. past deceptions. But the opportunity
Skilled though the vampire lord had There were still those in Sylvania who to dethrone Vlad as head of his
been in the dark arts, his works possessed their own vigour and drive, cursed family took precedence over
had been but the fumblings of an but most made sure not to draw their all other ambitions. Arkhan would
apprentice compared to the darkness new monarch’s attention. Nagash’s be Mannfred’s weapon against Vlad.
that now smothered that land, and rule chafed upon the vampires most Then, his usefulness spent, the liche
they had been weakened near to of all. At first, they had rejoiced at would be destroyed, and Mannfred
unmaking on too many occasions. It his arrival, for the sweet magics of would enjoy Nagash’s full favour.
was not so now. death that hung about him left the
parasites stronger than ever before. Mannfred had expected orders to
Nagash, the Great Necromancer Yet the vampires were also well-used pursue his errant ‘father’, to drag
of old, had made Sylvania his new to suiting their own pleasures, not Vlad back by his heels in order that
lair, and had rebuilt Mannfred’s obeying the dictates of another. They he might suffer Nagash’s wrath. In
enchantments with a deftness and had quickly come to resent Nagash’s this, he was disappointed. Arkhan
audacity that had impressed even presence, their godless spirits welling simply conveyed Nagash’s orders
their proud creator. Nagash’s Black up with bitterness and envy. But not that Mannfred was to assume Vlad’s
Pyramid now rested in the very centre one amongst them dared defy the command of the northern borders.
of Sylvania, upon the ragged island Great Necromancer in any but the The forces of Chaos would not settle
where the ritual circle of the Nine smallest of ways, for they had marked for the destruction of the Empire
Daemons had once stood. A lake of well the fate of those who had. alone – especially if their jealous gods
death magic lapped upon the isle’s had predicted Nagash’s strategy. An
shores, its level slowly receding as attack was anticipated, and now it
Nagash absorbed the energies of was Mannfred – rather than Vlad –
Shyish and harnessed them to his who was expected to repulse it.
own selfish purposes.
Though disappointed with the fruits
Hour by hour – for day and night of his betrayal, Mannfred drew solace
no longer had any meaning in that from the fact that he had displaced
forsaken place – the violet hues Even Mannfred, who hated Nagash Vlad, even if he had not completely
of forbidden magic washed out for the effortless theft of his kingdom, done away with him. It never for a
across the desolate shoreline, both made no overt challenge. Proud moment occurred to him that Nagash
courier and enforcer of the Great Mannfred may have been, but he was would favour the sire over the bastard
Necromancer’s will. Now, Sylvania also fiercely clever. From the very child, but this was in fact the case.
was truly a land of the undead. It was first, he could conceive of no scenario Vlad’s stubbornness and peculiar
a realm of stillness and shadow, of in which he confronted Nagash and sense of honour made him far more
absolute order, protected by armies survived, and had thus chosen to trustworthy to Nagash than Mannfred
numerous beyond counting. serve as the right hand of darkness, would ever be. Nagash deemed that
rather than be scattered to the winds Vlad lived for something greater than
Everything that moved beneath as a handful of unremembered dust. himself, even if the elder vampire did
Sylvania’s hollow trees was granted So had he resolved for now, at least. not truly understand what it was he
life only by Nagash’s magics, and strove for. The Great Necromancer
everything that did not was bound to Thus it was Mannfred who had believed that Vlad would one day
his will. In the early days of Archaon’s marked Vlad’s departure for serve willingly, if only he could be
invasion – before Middenheim had Averheim, and he too who brought convinced – or broken. Mannfred, on
fallen to the horde – northlander word of his sire’s defiance to Nagash’s the other hand, existed only to slake
chieftains, desperate for glory, had ear. He did not speak directly to his own needs and ambitions, and
led their warriors over the walls of the Great Necromancer, who spent always would. Distil Mannfred down
bone and into the silent forests and much of those days convalescing in to his merest essence, flay every scrap
empty fields. None had returned. the Black Pyramid, preparing for the of flesh and intellect from his carcass,
The dead of Sylvania were buried in inevitable confrontation with the Dark and still his serpent’s instinct would
numbers beyond counting, and each Gods. Rather, his words of betrayal remain whole.

50 | Chapter 2
Archaon had cared nothing for long since destroyed, her pale beauty The woman was a strange
Sylvania, his obsession lying only a stark contrast to the suppurating counterpoint indeed to the rotting
with the Empire, but there were those ranks in which she marched. host, but her companion was more
amongst the Chaos host who saw the incongruous by far. His was the
threat Nagash posed. Indeed, mighty The countess was the Plaguefather’s shaven pate and firm brow of a
Nurgle himself, so often distracted most recent and greatest weapon Sigmarite warrior priest, his two-
by his creative urges, had taken against the undead, a vessel of handed hammer an echo of mighty
particular offence at a land where his entropy and renewal whose touch Ghal Maraz. Little wonder, then, that
blights found little purchase, and had spurred the stale dead into twisted the hapless Luthor Huss was even less
thus set plans in motion. life. Where she trod, the graves and a master of his own destiny than she
charnel pits of Sylvania bloomed whom he served.
So it was that Sylvania found with strange plants, the inert bones
itself assailed by a daemonic host, decaying into fluids teeming with The mind at work behind the warrior
dispatched at the Plaguefather’s microscopic forms of life. The priest’s eyes was not his own, but
own order. It was a shambling and Plaguefather had ever been a creature that of a spirit who had served as
rotting cavalcade, all seeping sores of fulsome humour, and saw great one of Nagash’s Mortarchs. The
and gangling limbs, hidden beneath mirth in choosing one of the undead Nameless had possessed no love
a thrumming, buzzing cloud of flies to transform barren Sylvania into a for the Great Necromancer, and had
that stretched for leagues. This host teeming garden. served only for the promise of having
was nothing less than a walking his identity restored. He had helped
blight. Where it travelled, fields and The countess’ spirit had been drawn Vlad von Carstein defend the Empire’s
forests collapsed into decay, animals willingly from the void of death, northern border for a time, but when
sickened and died. And always, the air restored to vigour by Nurgle’s that defence had broken apart he
about was filled with the monotonous, almighty will, but she did not serve had taken to amusing himself with
grinding drone of daemonic tallymen altogether without question. At the whomsoever crossed his path. The
taking measure of the horrors they turning of the day, when one bleak spirit was a powerful and malicious
had wrought. night flowed into another and her thing, given to cruelty and torment,
strength was at its height, she could and had slaked those appetites well
Two beings led this host, but neither be heard arguing in two voices. In before Luthor Huss had crossed his
was entirely what they seemed. The these debates, the countess’ spirit path. To his credit, the warrior priest
veiled countess spoke little, but it was ever strove to slip its shackles, and had hurt the Nameless more deeply
her will that gave the host its purpose the daemon fought desperately to than had any for many an age of
– or rather, it was the will of the maintain its grip upon her mind and the world. The priest’s punishment
daemon Bolorog, who great Nurgle body. Each time thus far, the daemon for that effrontery was to serve ever
had shackled to her soul. She was had won, but a new battle followed after as the vessel by which the spirit
dressed in the faded finery of palaces soon enough. indulged his cruelties.
 The Plaguefather had won the spirit to admitted that Nagash was his Slowly but surely, Mannfred built
his cause by the simplest of methods. superior, for the moment at least. He up his forces on the edge of Grim
Like Vlad, the Nameless resented had nothing to fear from any other. Moor. He reanimated the worm-
Nagash’s failure to keep his side of eaten dead of that bleak expanse,
the bargain; unlike Vlad, he had been Mannfred made no attempt to defend buttressing their numbers with
prepared to change allegiance in order the fortifications along the River Stir, wights from Drakenhof, Templestadt
to repay that affront. The Nameless nor the crumbling fortress at Eisigfurt. and Vorengheist, each regiment
doubted that Nurgle had any intention At either place, the vampire could lead by vampiric thralls loyal
of granting the knowledge he sought, easily have found himself in a trap of only to him. Beneath Nachtrecht,
but the Plaguefather had at least his own making, had the battle gone ghouls struck open stone coffins,
bestowed sufficient power upon him ill. Defeat would have surely followed; dragging the enchained vampire-
to make a formless and pastless defeat, or the unbearable indignity kin within to Mannfred’s presence.
existence more tolerable. None of this of rescue by another of his fellow The unquiet spirits of moor and fen
was known to Luthor Huss, whose Mortarchs. Instead, the vampire were summoned and bound, lesser
mind was locked tight in a prison of chose to harry his opponents as they vampires rousted from their bloody
the Nameless’ making, the power of marched south, their course arrow- lairs. Tattered banners grew thick
his faith bent to an unholy will. straight for the Nine Daemons and the along the moorland, and still the
Black Pyramid. daemonic host trudged south, the
Mannfred sensed his opponents as drone of their counting the only herald
soon as they breached the walls of Early clashes filled Mannfred with to their coming.
bone that bordered the River Stir. He confidence. Though he had not taken
was aware, at once, that one of his to the battlefield himself, his thralls So fixed was Mannfred’s attention on
fellow Mortarchs was amongst the reported that the daemonic column the army drawing nigh that he entirely
daemon host, but it was hardly a was a slow and ponderous thing, missed Vlad’s return to Sylvania.
surprise. Others had turned against scarcely able to react to the wolves The elder von Carstein had ridden
Nagash before, and doubtless others and spirits that assailed their flanks. day and night since he had observed
would do so in future – the Great Moreover, so supreme was Nagash’s the fall of Averheim. He had clung
Necromancer had a peculiar talent power, that even Nurgle’s magics of to shadows where he could, and
for fanning the flames of resentment rot and ruin could find little root in endured the harsh light of the sun
in those who served him. Mannfred the bleak soil of Sylvania. By the time where concealment was impossible.
also recognised the woman as the invaders had reached the town of Such was the pace he had set that
familiar, although her identity danced Templehof, Mannfred believed he had many of his templars had fallen
maddeningly across his senses taken their measure, and resolved to behind, abandoned at the roadside as
without resolution. It mattered little. crush them in a single overwhelming bloodthirst or sunlight brought them
Mannfred von Carstein reluctantly display of force. to weakness.

‘D o you ride so swiftly to your death?’

The girl’s voice was scarcely audible over the
nightmare’s thundering hooves, but Vlad heard it all the
‘Then deliver it, and begone. My patience is not what
it once was.’
The girl’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Queen of Mysteries has
same, and hauled hard on his reins. been graced by a vision. Both death and heart’s desire
She stood in the lee of a black oak, a pace or so back await you at the end of this road. She did not wish for
from the roadway. The hem of her white dress was them to find you unprepared.’
stained with mud, an open parasol resting carelessly ‘Why?’ Vlad demanded, suspicious of some deceit.
on her right shoulder. She was a picture of innocence The girl shrugged. ‘Perhaps she feels fondly towards
in a dark realm, seemingly possessing as much life you, even now. I neither know, nor care. As I told you, I
expectancy as a candle at the bottom of the sea. am simply the messenger.’
Nevertheless, Vlad would have known better, even had ‘Will you not ride with me, so you can report my fate?’
he not known her face. ‘I think not. I have no desire to encounter what lies
‘I have no time for your games,’ said the von Carstein, ahead of you.’ She offered a sad smile. ‘My time in this
‘or those of your mistress. Speak your piece, and leave world is coming to an end, just as yours is, and I think I
me be.’ would rather meet it in my homeland.’
‘I have no mistress,’ the girl retorted, her accent The girl offered Vlad a curtsy then slipped back
thickening with irritation. ‘I carry this message because through the trees, leaving the vampire with much to
I choose to, not because she compels me.’ think upon.

52 | Chapter 2
Vlad had little idea of what would
await him in Sylvania, but he had
sense enough to know that his realm
Mannfred held only contempt for his
fellow Mortarch, whose grasp on
sanity was seldom anything other
T he Nameless looked out upon
the moor through Luthor
Huss’ borrowed eyes. The crest
was threatened. Moreover, he knew than tenuous. However, he consoled of the far hill was blotted out
that the greatest threat came not from himself that the coming battle would by rotting bodies and tattered
without, from the sorceries and blades surely provide ample opportunities banners, but the Nameless felt no
that Chaos could muster, but from the for Harkon to meet with his long- concern. Indeed, it was gratifying
colossal hubris of the realm’s rulers. overdue oblivion – and if somehow that his enemies still feared him
That Neferata had already fled was none arose by themselves, Mannfred enough to assemble such a force.
proof enough. She and Vlad had been would gladly fashion one that would More puppets to dance to his tune,
many things to one another across the not fail. Moreover, what Harkon’s if only he could find the strings.
millennia, but the Sylvanian count had hordes lacked in vigour, they more ‘Are you prepared?’ asked the
never known the Queen of Mysteries than compensated for through sheer, nearby countess, guttural tones
to long endure allegiance to the losing unassailable numbers. running through her soft voice.
side. What Chaos did not destroy, The Nameless could not tell if
Mannfred, Arkhan and Nagash would As the droning, buzzing procession it was truly she who spoke, or the
deliver unto them through blind drew closer along the Eisigfurt road, daemon wedded to her soul. It
arrogance. In his cold, still heart, Vlad Mannfred assembled his minions for hardly mattered for the moment,
did not truly know what he could do battle. Harkon’s shambling hordes but he had promised himself that
to alter the situation – indeed, he was lay a short distance away upon the he would unpick their binding,
no longer certain Sylvania was a prize southern hills. A long-abandoned when the time came. The daemon
worth defending – but he had pride coaching inn, the Dead and Buried was of no interest – he had bested
enough to not relinquish his old realm – a relic of Sylvania’s Imperial past hundreds of such creatures in
without a fight. – marked the southern extent of the the past. But the countess? She
pirate’s line, whilst the charred ruins stank of self-hatred and desire, of
of a Sigmarite shrine served as the vengeance and regret. She would
northern boundary. make for a delicious toy.
For a moment, Huss’
Mannfred would neither rely on face twisted into a most
Harkon’s troops for his victory, nor uncharacteristic leer as the
entirely ignore their presence. The Nameless considered pleasures
Lord of Sylvania was confident that to come. He entertained thoughts
his will was stronger than his rival’s, of teasing apart his companion’s
and would not hesitate to wrench contradictions, of weaving them
command of the pirate’s hordes from into new and interesting patterns.
Harkon if need arose. Mannfred’s Her tortured spirit would be his
own zombies would head the attack, first new familiar, he decided, her
driven quickly onto the foe by torments the music that would
the necromancers whose carrion accompany every victory to come.
carts were spread throughout the ‘I asked if you were prepared?’
unbreathing mass. Only when the The countess’ voice, more guttural
daemons were pinned beneath the now than soft, brought the
rotting dead would Mannfred unleash Nameless out of his reverie.
Atop Grim Moor, Mannfred von his true thrust: his wights and the The leer faded from Huss’ face
Carstein’s gathering host had grown coffin-mad vampires. as the Nameless fought to contain
larger still, though the reason was his wrath. Patience, he chided
little to his liking. Luthor Harkon, the When the foe at last shambled into himself. His current body was able
vampire reaver lately of the Lustrian sight, it was all Mannfred could to contain only of portion of his
coast, had learned of the looming do not to laugh at the paucity of full might. He would need another,
battle. Never one to avoid a fight if the forces arrayed against him. It stronger vessel, and soon. Perhaps
one was in the offing, he had brought was almost insulting – there were one of the vampires arrayed
his own zombie hordes down from thousands of daemons, but the against him? The Nameless
their haunts in Sylvania’s eastern vampire had tens of thousands of loathed inhabiting dead flesh, but
marches, and now joined them undead at his command, and could he hated subservience even more.
to Mannfred’s army with neither muster even more at a whim. The ‘Indeed, countess,’ the spirit
welcome nor permission. battle was as good as won. replied. ‘Let us begin.’

Chapter 2 | 53
No battle cry marked the daemons’ Mannfred von Carstein’s mind was
advance, just a whispered command already set to the replenishment of his
from the lips of their veiled losses. Calling upon the death magic
commander. The plaguebearers’ that permeated Sylvania’s every mote,
world-weary trudge became perhaps the vampire breathed fresh life into
a touch quicker, that was all. They his fallen slaves, driving them into the
lurched from the road with the fray once more.
general air of beings who would
rather be doing something – anything Of the daemons’ commanders,
– else, then formed a line of battle Mannfred could see only the
that sought to match the one arrayed Nameless’ host body. There were
against them. heralds and harbingers amongst the
host, sure enough, and the wallowing
With discipline heavily at odds silhouettes of the three Great Unclean
with their gangrenous appearance, Ones, but the vampire quickly
plaguebearers shuffled into dismissed these as mere lackeys,
formation beneath bell-hung unworthy of his attention. The
banners, nurglings chittering and Nameless was another matter. Huss’
chortling underfoot. The buzzing armour shone even in the darkness,
swarm parted as vast flies climbed its wearer sat proudly on horseback,
skyward. And everywhere upon the defiant and mocking. Mannfred
flanks, betentacled beasts bounded recognised the spirit at once, was
and lolloped excitedly, impatiently grimly pleased that he had taken
covering the same ground many command of Huss’ body, for it would
times over as they waited for their make the slaying of that flesh doubly
masters to keep pace. Deep within the sweet. But even Mannfred’s keen eyes
host, three corpulent Great Unclean could not spy the countess hidden
Ones chivvied and chided the other amongst the plaguebearers’ ranks.
daemons on, the burble of their orders
strangely peaceable and soothing. Even so, Mannfred should have been
wary that something was afoot.
Mannfred sent his zombies to meet Though the pock-marked heralds
the daemons as they crossed the line amongst the daemon host called upon
of black gorse that was Grim Moor’s all manner of magics to rain corrosive
boundary. The walking dead paid filth and rot down upon the zombie
no heed to the thorns that tore their horde, the Nameless made no attempt
rotting flesh, but hacked and cudgelled to wield his own formidable power,
the suppurating hellspawn with rusted and was content to merely contest
blades and mattocks. Fresh welts Mannfred’s enchantments.
opened up on the plaguebearers’
waxy skin, stinking brown blood and Away to the south, Harkon’s horde
wriggling maggots oozing from the pressed onto the daemons’ flank.
wounds. Plagueswords hacked down, Already heavily engaged to their
and flies burrowed into the zombies’ front, the plaguebearers could spare
flesh, glad to feast upon something few blades for this secondary threat,
more palatable than daemonic gristle. but still the pirate’s forces fared far
Corpses spilled into the tangled scrub, less well than Mannfred’s. Harkon
jagged, greenish wounds already had never been a true adept of the
frothing with unspeakable fluids. necromancer’s art, and his conjurings
were sparse and fragile, easily
Silently, the zombies ground on, disrupted by the two seeming mortals
driven onto the daemons’ blades by a at the heart of the daemonic host.
will not their own. Scores lay lifeless
and broken already, the tally of the The zombie pirates’ lines were not so
fallen heavily in the plaguebearers’ tightly packed as Mannfred’s. This
favour. Yet it did not remain so. weakness was soon – if unwittingly –
exploited by the beasts of Nurgle, who were gored by gleaming stingers, Mannfred saw the Nameless grin from
bounded through the gaps looking cloven by rusting swords or simply behind Huss’ blank eyes, but it was
for fresh playmates. Never so spry crushed by the creatures’ impact. not the puppeteered priest that seized
as they thought, the creatures all too Yet there was no joy to be seen on his attention. That honour, dubious
often slammed into knots of zombies. the riders’ faces, no cheer upon their as it was, went to the shrouded
The beasts’ confusion was quickly sore-laden lips. There was only the vampiress who stood at Huss’s side.
swamped by a desire to play with crushing burden of unending ennui, Mannfred knew her identity even
as many zombies as possible. Their and the muttered tally of the slain. before she tore the lace aside.
affectionate flailing ripped the heart
from many a formation, and Harkon’s At Mannfred’s wordless command, the ‘What grieves you so, that you have
attack began to stall. wights at last came forward. There no kind words for your family?’
were five columns in all, each led by asked Isabella von Carstein, cruel
Mannfred had attention enough to a half-dozen vampiric lieutenants. laughter rippling beneath the words.
spare that he took note of his fellow Cursed steel was ready in their hands, For the first time in many long years,
Mortarch’s plight, but he paid it no the tramp of their deathless feet in Mannfred was overcome by surprise,
mind. Where his forces fought, the perfect step. Few of the plaguebearers the battle raging around him all but
daemons were held at bay – nothing noticed, so enrapt were they in the forgotten. He had even less regard for
else mattered. Once the plague drones fight. Ancient glaives sliced through Isabella than for Vlad, would have cut
in the skies committed themselves to daemonic flesh and shattered gnarled her down in a heartbeat, had he not
the battle, it would be time to unleash bone. Lances tore through ribcages found himself momentarily bereft of
the wights who waited patiently, and spines, spilling pestilent offal speech and action. He could sense
witlessly, at his side. The vampire across the moor. Bestial vampire-kin the power radiating off Isabella as an
wanted the battle done, for it was thus came behind the wights, their howls almost physical force, a potency that
far most unworthy of his presence. He fit to freeze any mortal’s blood, their defied his memories of a being he had
found the ceaseless drone of counting talons savage and unrelenting. always dismissed as Vlad’s mistress.
tedious, the buzzing of the daemon- At once, Mannfred knew that he had
flies supremely distracting. Mannfred rode at the fore, his dread erred badly, and unaccustomed self-
abyssal growling with hunger as doubt overtook him.
Away to the south, Mannfred saw it pounced. The black banners of
a frustrated Harkon draw his bone- Sylvania streamed at the vampire’s Not so the three vargheists who
hilted sabre and join the next charge. back, and the caress of his enchanted followed in Mannfred’s wake. With a
The sight brought a thin smile to sword was deadly to all who felt it. blur of wings and claws they barrelled
the Lord of Sylvania’s face. With With a dozen viper-quick strokes, he past their master, rapturous at the
a muttered cantrip, he weakened cut down a bloated greater daemon prospect of tasting flesh not already
the magics binding the pirate’s before it could bring its flail to bear. gone to the rot. They were swift,
vanguard together. His interference Mannfred’s next swing split the skull but Isabella was swifter still. Her
was rewarded almost at once. A pair of a plaguebearer, the seething black sword swept out, and one vargheist
of slavering beasts burst through matter inside distasteful even to him. fell headless amongst the gorse.
the crumbling ranks and pounced The second screeched into death a
joyfully on the pirate, bearing him to The momentum of Mannfred’s charge moment later as Isabella whipped her
the ground. Mannfred’s smile grew carried him far past the tidemark blade around and buried it hilt-deep
broader. The daemons wouldn’t be of corpses that marked where in the creature’s chest. The third,
enough to kill him, but the indignity of zombies had held the plaguebearers. seeing his prey’s weapon trapped,
their embrace was amusing. His columns of silent dead were roared in triumph and pounced.
like five great claws, slicing into a Isabella made no attempt to free her
A clangour of bells from darkened mass of daemonic flesh and tearing blade, but instead side-stepped the
skies signalled that the plague it apart. Already the heart of the lunge with courtly grace, her slender
drones had at last joined the battle. plaguebearer’s formation was thinning fingers brushing lightly against the
A swarm of blades and stingers took before him, unable to stand before vargheist’s pale flank as she did so.
Mannfred’s zombies in their flank, the discipline of his wights and the Mannfred had recovered from his
jagged proboscises groping blindly fury of his vargheists. All of a sudden, fugue by this time and hurriedly urged
for mouldering brains. Mannfred had there was a space before him, a gap in Ashigaroth forward, but he halted just
been prepared for the attack, had the rotting ranks. The plaguebearers as the remaining vargheist suddenly
gathered magics ready to reinvigorate made no move to block Mannfred emitted an agonised screech.
his witless minions, but the losses as he spurred forward, but enemies
were horrendous, even so. Zombies awaited him all the same.

Chapter 2 | 55
 Mannfred hauled Ashigaroth back. Isabella was speaking now, her of obsession there were few who
His eyes flicked from Isabella’s thin mocking tone shifting between her could have matched his will. Ever
smile, to the open mockery on the own and Bolorog’s as she delivered had the spirit sought control over
Nameless’ borrowed face, and at last Nurgle’s long list of grievances against those around him, be they living,
to the vargheist. The creature was the undead. Mannfred scarcely heard daemon or undead, and in that he
writhing uncontrollably, the grinding the words, so intent on escape was surrendered expertise to no one. The
and cracking of bones clearly audible he. The nearer Isabella drew, the Nameless reached out from his mortal
as its wiry muscles spasmed. The louder the buzzing became, and vessel, his spirit surging and roiling
black lines left by Isabella’s touch the vampire knew that her touch as it sought new hosts. He could
widened and spread as the taint would be the end of him. All about not touch the wights in Mannfred’s
took hold, skin, muscle and bone Mannfred, zombies and wights tore army. They possessed enough
decomposing into a sickly slime. With and hacked at daemons. The vampire rudimentary awareness of their own
a final gurgling screech, the vargheist felt the press about him slacken as to raise a challenge, however pitiful.
liquefied entirely, its once-mighty the daemons were forced to defend The Nameless could have won one
flesh falling like rain upon the gorse. themselves against the undead such contest without effort, his own
Where the stinking droplets landed, converging upon his location. dark will easily crushing the speck
the black thorns twisted into new of black that was a wight’s. To win
shapes, strange daemonic growths the hundreds and thousands of
bursting from root and stem. The such struggles required would have
whole, horrible process had taken stretched the Nameless thin. He had
mere seconds. no appetite for that risk, not when
there were better options. Zombies
Isabella at last ripped her sword free had no will of their own, and any
of the second vargheist’s corpse. All contest there would be fought purely
around, the plaguebearers pressed between the Nameless and Mannfred
in, sore-laden hands grasping at von Carstein.
Ashigaroth’s limbs, pinning the dread
abyssal in place. Mannfred hacked Mannfred swept the tip of his blade Unsettled and distracted as he was by
down, severing arms and fingers, across a herald’s bulging stomach, Isabella’s presence upon the Winds
but more came forward to take their foul-smelling fluid spraying in an arc of Magic, Mannfred did not feel the
place. Isabella smiled, and took a step behind the steel. At last the press Nameless’ intrusion until it was
towards Mannfred, opening her arms about him slackened, as relentless too late: ten thousand dark sparks
wide in the precursor to an embrace. undead overwhelmed unyielding bursting across his consciousness
Twin-throated laughter echoed across daemons. Overcoming the droning as control of the zombie horde was
the moor as the countess and the in his mind, the vampire sent pulses wrenched from him. Mannfred
daemon within her exulted at the of withering light bursting from his fought back, but the black cloud of
vampire’s plight. bladed staff. Daemons crumbled all the Nameless’ will was dense and
about him, and Ashigaroth at last suffocating, growing stronger with
Still struggling against his captors, wrenched free. each body he dominated.
Mannfred sent his will upon the
winds, urging all undead upon the Escape was now a tempting option, Submit. The ragged whisper echoed
moor to come to his aide. There and Mannfred would have embraced across the moor, croaked from ten
was a buzzing in his mind, as if the it unhesitatingly had his pride allowed thousand ragged throats at the
Wind of Death itself had become it. But he could not bear for it to direction of a single terrible mind.
infested by Nurgle’s pestilent swarms. be known that he, Mannfred von
Nevertheless, Mannfred refused to be Carstein, had been driven to flight by Submit. Not satisfied with stealing
beaten, and pushed his fierce will on Isabella, whatever patronage she now Mannfred’s minions, the Nameless
past the droning sound. enjoyed. For her part, the vampiress swept on, extinguishing Harkon’s mad
marked the change that had come will, and seizing control of the pirate’s
As one, the zombies and wights over her foe, and gave the slightest of forces also.
lurched towards their master, their nods. At her side, the thing that had
previous orders overridden by sudden once been Luthor Huss smiled. Submit. Mannfred clutched at his
need. The numberless hordes of the skull as the Nameless, gorged with
dead and the remaining four talons of The Nameless lacked the sweeping success, chanced his will against
Mannfred’s assault converged upon breadth of Mannfred’s sorcerous the vampire’s. Flies swarmed about
their beleaguered lord. knowledge, but in his own field Mannfred, drawn to a feast to come.

56 | Chapter 2
Submit. Grasping fingers tore at the with them, his pirate finery slicked from Mannfred’s staff. The nearby
wights’ armour. Verdigrised plates with daemon blood and pestilent daemons were snatched to dust and
were wrenched away from ancient fluid, daemons trudging after him in Mannfred, at last, realised that his
bones, and then the bones were disinterested pursuit. arrogance had cost him the battle.
ripped free in turn. Banners fell
as zombies and daemons ground Submit. This time the voice was Before the backwash of his spell
mercilessly through the undying Isabella’s, slender and precise where had faded, Mannfred had urged
ranks, the tallymen’s drone swelling the others were raucous. The zombies Ashigaroth into the sky. Far below,
as the count grew higher. and plaguebearers parted before he heard Isabella’s frustrated snarl,
her as she strode across a field of and took some small pleasure in it.
Submit. Vargheists, too lost to shattered bone and mangled armour, However, the spark of satisfaction
beasthood to properly resist the the gorse mutating and writhing with quickly faded. Ashigaroth was
Nameless’ will, reeled and roared her passing. a creature of myth as much as
as his mind pressed against theirs. necromancy. This heritage slowed
Disoriented and agonised, the Submit. The countess stepped closer, Isabella’s entropic touch, but that was
creatures were easy prey for the her outstretched fingers reaching for all – Mannfred knew soon it would
Plagueswords that came to claim their Mannfred’s undead flesh. Thunderous meet with the vargheist’s fate.
undead lives. laughter shook the sky as Nurgle
looked down upon the mortal world, Kinship with a servant was wholly
Submit. Across the moor, Mannfred’s well-pleased by his emissary’s work. alien to Mannfred’s nature, but
lieutenants struggled to hack their survival wasn’t. Already, Isabella’s
way clear of the turncoat undead. Summoning his last reserves, plague drones were thrumming in
Most were dragged down by the Mannfred drove the Nameless from pursuit. The vampire knew that
horde and torn apart, hacking wildly his mind, the effort almost more they were sure to overtake him if he
and desperately as mindless fingers than he could bear. As the pressure journeyed on foot, and he was too
tore open their bellies and throats. vanished from his thoughts, Mannfred weakened from the Nameless’ assault
However, some succeeded, breaking veered away from Isabella’s grasp, to attempt a sorcerous escape. Shelter
southwards to the Eisigfurt road to her fingers instead brushing against was needed whilst he undid Isabella’s
the deceptive shelter of the Dead one of Ashigaroth’s forelimbs. necrotic poisons. Shelter, and others
and Buried. Luthor Harkon escaped Withering light blazed once more to sacrifice in his stead.

A shigaroth made it to the Dead and Buried’s walled

courtyard before Isabella’s curse took its toll.
The dread abyssal’s forelegs and part of its ribcage
dying spirit gave up its power. Shredding his
challenger’s soul as he had the others, the Lord of
Sylvania fed the scraps to Ashigaroth. This time,
disintegrated into slime as it touched down, spilling the influx of magic was enough to set the curse into
half-digested souls across the compacted dirt, and an remission. It would be a while yet before the dread
undignified Mannfred von Carstein from its back. abyssal could fly, but it would do.
Regaining his composure and his footing, Mannfred ‘That the only answer you have, bilge-slime?’ Luthor
turned back to face his stricken steed. The curse was Harkon, always quicker than his appearance suggested,
unravelling it faster now; there were but moments to had slipped silently from the inn’s interior, and had his
save the beast. With a gesture, the vampire bound blade at Mannfred’s throat before he could react. ‘Give
the spill of souls and then tore them apart, using their me one good reason why I shouldn’t tear out your heart,
dying essence to halt Ashigaroth’s affliction. The curse and throw it to that she-devil.’
slowed, but did not stop, and Mannfred swore at length Mannfred had no chance to reply, save by means of a
in seldom-used Reikspiel. More would be needed, but disdainful look. There was a clatter of hooves as a band
from where? of Drakenhof Templars rode into the courtyard, daemon-
‘Come to see where your treachery has landed us?’ ichor slicked on their armour and a midnight banner at
A scarred vampire – one of Harkon’s captains, their head.
Mannfred recalled – had emerged from the inn’s ruined ‘Leave the worm be, Harkon. He’ll serve well enough if
doorway. Mannfred made no rejoinder. Instead, he took his own interests are at stake, won’t you?’
three brisk steps to the vampire’s side, slammed his Mannfred’s mood soured further. He knew that voice
skull against the wall with one hand, and tore his heart as well as he did his own, and hated it like no other.
clean from his ribcage with the other. ‘I see you’ve made a mess of things, Mannfred,’ said
That was better, thought Mannfred, as the vampire’s Vlad. ‘Let’s see what’s to be done about it, shall we?’

Chapter 2 | 57
 DEFENDERS OF THE
DEAD AND BURIED
The defenders of the Dead and Buried had little love for one another, but a desperate time made for a desperate
alliance. Fewer than a score of vampires against a horde of foes, including one who had proven that he could
wrest command of the undead from them, did not make for hopeful odds. However, there was no other option
save to stand and fight.

VLAD VON CARSTEIN

Vlad had arrived at the Dead and Buried just in time to see Mannfred’s army
fall under the Nameless’ sway. He had marked Isabella’s presence amongst
the daemonic host, and the sight hurt him more than any physical wound ever
could have. Nevertheless, Vlad kept his dismay closely guarded. He trusted
neither Mannfred nor Harkon to have the clarity of thought and purpose that
would be required to see them survive what was coming, and wished to display
no weakness that might have led to his authority being challenged. Isabella’s
salvation, if it were possible at all, would have to wait.

MANNFRED VON CARSTEIN

Humiliated, defeated and once more subordinate to his hated sire, Mannfred
saw great opportunity in the coming battle. He didn’t anticipate victory, as
Isabella had already proven herself a dangerous foe. Rather, it had not escaped
his attention that many of his rivals and enemies – for the separation between
the two was very slender in Mannfred’s mind – were now close at hand.
If he were to meet his death at last at the Dead and Buried, Mannfred was
determined that Vlad, Harkon, Isabella or the Nameless would precede him into
oblivion. Preferably, all of them, and loudly begging for mercy as they died.

LUTHOR HARKON
Harkon had great respect for Vlad as a leader, but little faith as to his true
allegiance. Too often, Vlad had shown greater attachment to the living than to
his own kind, and in Harkon’s eyes that made the elder von Carstein but a sliver
better than the mortals whose favour he courted. Nonetheless, Harkon was glad
that Vlad was now left with the burden of keeping Mannfred in order. Despite
his bluster, Harkon had no desire to test his might against the Lord of Sylvania.
He had seen too many make the attempt before, and fail in the striving.

CAPTAIN DREKLA
Drekla was Harkon’s right hand, which was somewhat ironic as he had lost
his own left hand following the vampire admiral into battle. He was also the
only other vampire in Harkon’s fleet who had been present at the battle of Grim
Moor and survived to reach the Dead and Buried. None of this mattered to
Drekla, whose ironclad loyalty was inversely proportional to his wits. Where
Harkon went, Drekla followed – no matter how hopeless the fight.

58 | Chapter 2
 Vlad von Carstein,
Mortarch of Shadow

Mannfred von Carstein,

Mortarch of Night

Luthor Harkon,
Mortarch of the Abyss
Vampire Lord

Captain Drekla
Vampire

Karkanoth of the Nosantra

Strigoi Ghoul King

Brachanasta of the Nosantra

Varghulf

Zaphaniah of the Nosantra

Vampire

Igorin of the Nosantra

Vampire
THE DRAKENHOF TEMPLARS
A once-great order of knights, the Drakenhof Templars’ numbers had been
Bastarno of the Nosantra
greatly thinned since Nagash’s return. Loyal to all vampires of the von Carstein Vampire
line, they had many times been pressed into battle by Vlad and Mannfred, and
they were given the most dangerous and difficult missions simply because no Marja of the Nosantra
other body of troops could be trusted to see them through. All in all, this had Vampire
taken a heavy toll on the knights of Drakenhof. The handful of templars who
had arrived at the Dead and Buried with Vlad were the largest formation The Drakenhof Templars
that remained. Two brotherhoods of
Blood Knights

THE NOSANTRA, MANNFRED’S LIEUTENANTS

Mannfred had selected most of his lieutenants out of desire that they should,
on no account, prove a danger to him. As a result, very few had enough in the
way of wits to escape the disastrous battle on Grim Moor. Those who remained
possessed either the raw brute strength to fight their way clear, or more good
sense than Mannfred had suspected. Mannfred had marked the latter group
upon his arrival, and had resolved not to underestimate them in the future –
if any in the Dead and Buried survived to see one.

Chapter 2 | 59
 THE STOLEN AND THE ROTTEN
With their forces buttressed by thousands of zombies, Isabella and the Nameless saw no reason to delay their
campaign. Sending the majority of their daemonic legion further south, they prepared to assault the Dead and
Buried with a tide of stolen dead, and those plaguebearers that remained.

ISABELLA THE ACCURSED

It was impossible for any to tell whether Isabella von Carstein’s actions and
words were truly her own, or Bolorog’s. The daemon had stoked the cruellest
memories of her past life, feeding the countess half-truths to fan forgotten
hatreds. Isabella loved and loathed Vlad in equal measure, for she could no
longer recall if she had truly been his equal, or merely a dominated thrall. No
confusion existed as regarded the other vampires, however – these, Isabella
had always hated. Too many of Sylvania’s get had treated her with disdain,
offering deference only in Vlad’s presence. It was this hate that empowered
Isabella’s curse, for it pleased Nurgle that the unfebrile dead would be undone
by their own pettiness.

THE NAMELESS
The Nameless was delighted at the turn of events. An army of the dead was at
his command, and three of Nagash’s five remaining Mortarchs were his for the
taking. The Nameless had visions of challenging Nagash, once the power of
three Mortarchs was added to his own. The spirit had all but forgotten about
Luthor Huss, thinking the warrior priest’s mind completely smothered beneath
his own dark will. However, Huss was a meal that had lost its flavour, and the
Nameless wanted the battle done so he could seek out another living host.
Glory awaited, of that he was sure.

THE LEGION OF SOULBLIGHT

On paper, the Legion of Soulblight seemed a most
FESTERHEART ungenerous gift. To despatch but a single census legion
Festerheart was chief amongst the heralds who marched into Sylvania, when other campaigns had boasted as many
against the Dead and Buried. He was a long-suffering as three, could have seemed an insult at best, and folly at
daemon who had risen and fallen in his legion’s ranks worst. However, the Legion of Soulblight was by far the
many times, and did not relish the prospect of another largest of Nurgle’s census legions, easily outmatching any
demotion as a result of failure. There is little in the mortal two of the Plaguelord’s other formations combined. Only a
and immortal realms more implacable than a determined fraction of the legion fought at the Dead and Buried – the
herald of Nurgle, as Festerheart would prove before the rest continued southwards towards the Nine Daemons
battle was done. under the command of the Great Unclean One Scrofulox.

60 | Chapter 2
 Isabella the Accursed

Luthor Huss (The Nameless)

Pusregnant the Glorious

Great Unclean One

Festerheart
Herald of Nurgle

The Legion of Soulblight

Five tallybands of Plaguebearers,
one tallyband of Plague Drones,
one pack of Beasts of Nurgle

The Bickermites
Eight swarms of Nurglings

The Dominated Dead

One vast horde of Zombies

PUSREGNANT THE GLORIOUS

Three Great Unclean Ones had commanded the census legion that Nurgle
had assigned to Isabella’s command, three rotting brothers from the Realm of
Chaos. The eldest – Torporgath – had been slain by Mannfred on Grim Moor,
his filthy essence now trapped in the Forge of Souls. The remaining brothers,
Pusregnant and Scrofulox, had sworn to avenge that indignity, and perhaps
even offer up Mannfred’s tarnished essence in exchange for that of their lost
brother. With Scrofulox gone further south, it fell to Pusregnant to discharge
that duty.

THE DOMINATED DEAD

Originally raised from rotting slumber by Mannfred von Carstein or Luthor
Harkon, this horde now answered only to the Nameless’ will. The zombies
numbered many thousands, each pair of worm-eaten limbs but an extension
of the cruel spirit’s own drive. It was through their throats that the Nameless
uttered his battle cry, ‘submit’. So sonorous was that unified intonation that a
mortal foe would have been set to flight. The vampires, however, merely tasted
the implacable will behind the words, and knew that the battle to come would
be of the mind as much as of the body.

Chapter 2 | 61
 DEAD AND BURIED
The first attack against the inn came The inn itself was empty, for the roof Vlad, Mannfred and Luthor had
shortly after Vlad’s arrival. The horde was on the brink of collapsing, but agreed on very little since their
of zombies to the east began the long, the southern watchtower was still ascension to the rank of Mortarch,
slow shuffle up the eastern slope, relatively strong. Zaphaniah – another but had swiftly concurred that their
their feet churning through the mud. of Mannfred’s lieutenants – had strongest fighters would be required
The ‘survivors’ of Grim Moor, they elected to serve as lookout from atop to hold that filthy yard.
had missing limbs and chunks of torn the moss-encrusted stones. Already,
flesh to show for their striving. This he had reported that the majority Thus, the remainder of the vampires
advance was the signal to the zombies of the daemon host had continued had taken up position behind the
milling on the Dead and Buried’s other marching south, a message that had fences. Not all had done so willingly.
fronts. With a breathless hiss, the filled Vlad with mixed feelings. It The varghulf, Brachanasta, was
cage of dead flesh began to close. irked him greatly that invaders would used to being a predator, not prey.
have such freedom within Sylvania. Similarly, the ghoul king Karkanoth
Vlad had prepared the inn for the On the other hand, he was well had lived long on the flesh of those he
onslaught as best he could, though aware that the fewer the foes that had trapped in his dank network of
there was little enough he could came to assail the Dead and Buried, caves – he did not relish waiting in a
do. The courtyard walls to the east the better the chances of any of the trap to be devoured. However, neither
offered the strongest defence, but defenders surviving. Whatever befell, had dared defy Mannfred, and had
were also closest to the body of the Vlad was glad that Zaphaniah had subsided readily enough before his
horde. He had nevertheless chosen chosen high ground. He was brittle cold gaze.
to make his stand there, along with a and cadaverous, having spent too
handful of his Drakenhof Templars. many hours in pursuit of sorcerous Luthor Harkon and Captain Drekla
Bastarno – one of the coven of knowledge, rather than strength. had supposedly elected to help
Mannfred’s lieutenants known as the Better that he remain out of reach. Mannfred hold the western courtyard,
Nosantra – had chosen to take his but neither had any real desire to
place beside them. Vlad suspected The western courtyard of the Dead fight at the Lord of Sylvania’s side.
that he had been sent as an assassin, and Buried was little more than Accordingly, they stood ready on
but had no fear of a vampire who had churned mud. It was bounded by the courtyard’s north edge, as far
settled for an existence in Mannfred’s wooden fences which would serve from Mannfred as possible. Of
thin shadow. as only brief obstacles to the horde. the Nosantra, only Igorin seemed

Grim Moor
Mannfred von Carstein

Karkanoth, Brachanasta,
Igorin and Marja of Vlad von Carstein
the Nosantra
Drakenhof
Drakenhof Templars Templars

Luthor Harkon and Bastarno of the Zombie

Captain Drekla Nosantra Horde

N Zaphaniah of
the Nosantra

The Nine Daemons

62 | Chapter 2
unaware of the hostility between to the impact of rusty blades upon Blood Drinker flashed out, sweeping
Mannfred and the pirates, but Luthor his hide, bellowing challenges that the grasping dead from the
knew a dull-witted brute when he reverberated in the bones of his foe. watchtower. Vlad cursed silently.
saw one, and was hardly surprised at The world before him had taken on a
his lack of perception. Still the zombies came on, mindless crimson hue – blood was welling up
puppets hurled into oblivion by an through the vampire’s eye sockets as
Vlad’s courtyard came under attack uncaring master. Luthor Harkon’s the Glott’s plague gained a greater
first. The zombies reached the madness had returned as soon as the foothold in his body. He thrust again,
wall, fingers searching for purchase battle had been joined. He strutted running through three zombies with
amongst the cracks and worn along the north wall, bellowing orders a single stroke, but Vlad marked the
mortar. Vlad stood atop the stones, to followers he did not have, his slight tremor in his arm, the echo of
slashing Blood Drinker down to cutlass scabbarded more often than it weariness heavy in his undead flesh.
mulch rotting flesh and scatter dry swung free. He would have perished For the merest of moments, Vlad von
bones. Grasping hands reached many times over had not loyal Drekla Carstein knew uncertainty – he did
upwards, clawing at Vlad’s feet, but been ever in his wake, hacking apart not doubt that the unnatural plague
the vampire was swifter than the eye those zombies who came too close to would run its course only with his
could follow, always moving away the Pirate King. death. Then Vlad’s resolve returned,
before the straining fingers could his brief despair locked behind the
find purchase. Vlad could feel Otto The zombies were too many. Four iron cage of his will, and he joined the
Glott’s poison wracking his system Drakenhof Templars perished as the fight once more.
with each exertion, but he bit back battle went on, dragged from their
the unsteadiness, tried to ignore the steeds and trampled beneath the Vlad’s intercession had bought
boiling in his blood, and fought on. horde. Igorin attempted to match Zaphaniah a reprieve, and now the
Brachanasta’s efforts on the western withered vampire used it well. A
The Drakenhof Templars were just as slope, but a hulking zombie wrestled howling spectral wind built up around
efficient, if considerably less prone to his sword from his grip, and he too Zaphaniah’s outstretched claws, the
displays of bravado. They remained vanished beneath the surging tide spirits trapped within screeching
mounted, using the height of their of dead. Karkanoth had crested the and swooping as he fed more power
steeds to reach across the wall’s wall, wiry muscles propelling him into his conjuration. Zombies were
uneven coping stones and thrust towards where Igorin had vanished, swept up by the gusting winds, or
down at the horde. As for Bastarno, but reversed his course at Mannfred’s plunged from the tower as stones split
he forsook the wall’s defences barked command. The Lord of away from the wall. The watchtower
altogether. Instead, he hauled zombies Sylvania had already lost much to rocked to its foundations as the wind
into the courtyard in ones and twos, arrogance that day – he was ill- built up in speed, but still Zaphaniah
before hacking them apart with his inclined to see the mistakes of Grim chanted. The tower’s entire southern
paired, dragon-hilted swords. Little by Moor repeated. Yet no amount of face collapsed, the windswept rubble
little, a wall of unmoving flesh began shouting could draw Brachanasta bludgeoning the mass of zombies
to form alongside the stone bulwark, from the hill below. The varghulf caught in its path.
but there were always more zombies was lost in his element, to which the
to take the place of the fallen. mound of mangled flesh and bone At last, Zaphaniah released his
upon which he fought could attest. sorcerous wind, the cyclone ripping
The slaughter was even more southwards through the mustering
pronounced in the western courtyard. To the south, the defenders were in horde. Those caught directly before
Ashigaroth might not have been danger of being overrun. The zombies it were torn apart, their limbs and
recovered enough to fly, but the beast were scaling the watchtower as a organs falling like rain across the
was more than capable of shredding heaving mass of bodies, and though Dead and Buried. Others were hurled
the Nameless’ unthinking thralls. Zaphaniah’s crackling sorceries end over end from the cyclone’s path,
Wherever the horde threatened to sent scores tumbling broken to the slamming into other members of the
break through, the dread abyssal’s ground below, there were always horde with sickening force. When
claws raked across the fence-top, more to replace them. Vlad marked Zaphaniah’s conjuration at last gusted
rending zombies by the score. The the danger, and moved to assist itself out some distance away, the
varghulf, Brachanasta, gave a blood- the Nosantra. He ran to the tower’s southern approach was little more
curdling roar and leapt across the nearest flank, hauling himself up hand than a tangle of churned body parts.
fence to fight on the slope below. He over hand, shouldering zombies aside But more zombies lurked in the dark
pounced from one cluster of zombies until he reached the platform from beyond, and now they came forward
to the next, seemingly insensate which Zaphaniah fought. over their comrades’ mangled forms.

Chapter 2 | 63
 It was all too much for the as the zombie horde began to tear Mannfred lost his grip upon the
watchtower, which shuddered one last itself apart. Of the defenders, only horde once again as the Nameless
time and then collapsed. Vlad heard Brachanasta did not take advantage drew near, the bleak and hateful
the mournful shifting and creaking of the change in fortunes. The will effortlessly shattering the
of the stones and hurled himself varghulf was capable of recognising vampire’s control. Mannfred flinched
clear, landing heavily – but largely little through his bloodlust, and so as if struck, but swiftly regained his
upright – upon the inn’s roof. He slid continued to rip, gore and tear with composure, aware that several of the
down the eastern slope, cracked tiles savage abandon. Drakenhof Templars were watching
scattering around him to smash on him closely. All around the Dead and
the ground below, then leapt a second Buried, the horde regained its unity of
time to land in the walled courtyard. purpose and lumbered forward.
Zaphaniah was not so swift. With a
thin wail, he vanished amongst the Submit. The Nameless’ voice, breathed
rumbling cascade of stone – the tower through his minions’ ruined throats
upon which he had fought becoming carried clearly though the limp air. It
his burial cairn. was meant to bring despair, but the
reminder of his defeat on Grim Moor
Mannfred felt the Wind of Death’s just made Mannfred all the angrier.
magical backdraught, heard the
rumble of the collapsing watchtower. Zombies poured over the ruins of the
Wrenching round on Ashigaroth’s watchtower, threatening to spill into
back, he saw Vlad’s ignominious In the eastern courtyard, Vlad took both courtyards. Vlad and Mannfred
descent across the inn’s roof, and the opportunity to regather his moved to fill the gap, enmity forgotten
smiled. Then Mannfred realised fading strength. The Glottkin plague in the face of mutual need. No words
something that should have occurred was growing stronger with every passed between the von Carsteins as
to him long before: the Nameless was moment, called to wakefulness by they fought. Ashigaroth was a coiled
yet distant from the fight, his grasp on one of the daemonkin lurking in spring beneath Mannfred as the two
the horde far weaker that it had been the dark. The elder von Carstein’s vampires fought side by side. Rivals
on Grim Moor. pores were seeping blood, his pale though they were, each vampire knew
skin reddened by lesions. Thus, as the other almost as well as he knew
With a broader smile, Mannfred Mannfred channelled death magic himself, and the same instincts that
reached out across the hillside, and to take control of the horde, Vlad each had often used to stymie the
began to wrest back control of what employed it to rebind his own undead other were now harnessed to ensure
was rightfully his. The zombies flesh. Gradually, the lesions faded, their mutual survival.
resisted at first, the Nameless’ residual but the fire in the vampire’s veins
influence too strong, but Mannfred remained no matter what he did. For Not all of the vampires were so
was in no mood to suffer opposition. the first time, Vlad realised the depth capable. One of the Drakenhof
Gathering death magic around him of his predicament, that exertion only Templars in the western courtyard
like a cloak, the Lord of Sylvania encouraged the plague to spread. He was dragged from his steed by
burrowed through the enchantments knew that he would soon perish if unfeeling hands. Pinned beneath a
of his foe. victory did not come swiftly. suffocating mass of dead flesh, his
gurgling body was torn apart, organ
Instantly, the zombies nearest Unfortunately for the defenders of by organ, the wet chunks strewn
the Dead and Buried ceased their the Dead and Buried, victory was at across the hillside.
advance, arms falling slackly to their best a distant proposition. Neither the
sides as Mannfred took control. Even Nameless nor Isabella had wished to To the north, plaguebearers at
then, the Nameless’ will refused to leave the battle to other hands, and last reached the Dead and Buried.
loose its grasp. Dozens of the dead had come to the besieged inn whilst Harkon’s cutlass hacked down the
were torn away from Mannfred, but the bulk of their army continued first, the daemon collapsing with an
the vampire cared little. Perhaps half south. With them came the Great accusatory look in its eye, but dozens
of the zombies around the Dead and Unclean One, Pusregnant. The more came behind, thick black flies
Buried were now within the Lord of daemon was determined to repay swarming all around.
Sylvania’s control, and he gleefully his brother’s banishment on Grim
set them loose upon the other half. To Moor, and had brought a great tithe A beast of Nurgle, boisterous in its
both the east and west, the pressure of plaguebearers and their minions to approach, smashed through the
on the vampires’ defences slackened ensure that the debt could be claimed. eastern wall. Bastarno tried to dive

64 | Chapter 2
clear, but too slowly, and was pinned A corpulent shadow loomed on swung their plagueswords regardless
beneath the creature’s slobbering the western hill as Pusregnant led to strike the offending vampires from
bulk. The vampire stabbed at his tallybands of plaguebearers up the their saddles.
assailant with short, efficitent jabs, slope. Brachanasta, tiring of the poor
but the daemon paid the wounds no sport offered by the zombies, was A huge herald, his status marked
heed. Instead, it looked fondly down on the greater daemon in moments. by his magnificent horns, lurched
at the struggling vampire, dipped A swipe of the varghulf’s claws tore through the splintered fence. His
its head and ran a rough and slimy open the Great Unclean One’s foetid sword was crusted with filth, but no
tongue across Bastarno’s head and guts. The daemon simply laughed, less deadly for all that. Shrugging off
upper torso. Where it passed, the and swung his sword in a blow that a templar’s sword-blow, the herald’s
vampire’s face and armour bubbled pulverised Brachanasta’s monstrous return strike hacked the vampire in
and blistered, his screams of agony left arm. The wizened face at the half. Then he lurched on, his thrust
as excruciating as they were brief. tip of Pusregnant’s tongue chortled gouging a deep wound in Karkanoth’s
Feeling his playmate go still, the beast in laughter as the varghulf roared belly. Hissing with pain, the ghoul
looked down in momentary confusion, in pain and anger, then fell silent as king sprang and bore the herald to
then bounced away in search of Brachanasta’s ruined muscles quickly the ground, his long talons fastening
another friend. reknitted themselves around the tight about the daemon’s skull. With
splintered bone. The varghulf’s bestial a snarl, Karkanoth ripped the herald’s
Nurglings burst out of the Dead and lips twisted into a wolfish grin, and head clear of his body, and hurled the
Buried’s septic pipes and into the he leapt at Pusregnant once more, his remains back across the fence.
western courtyard. Karkanoth hissed huge fangs bared.
as the swarm flooded beneath the The buzzing over the eastern
legs of the zombies he was fighting, Plaguebearers pushed through the courtyard rose in pitch and volume as
and stamped down hard whenever a toppled wall, and across Bastarno’s a swarm of plague drones swooped
grinning midget head presented itself. liquefying corpse. Drakenhof low enough for the flies’ legs to
Each footfall was greeted by a soggy Templars charged to repulse them, scrape the Dead and Buried’s ruined
crunch and an indignant squeak. thrusting their lances forward roof. The riders’ plagueswords
After a dozen such protests, the into daemonic flesh. Handfuls of crunched effortlessly through the
nurglings fled in a bickering swarm to Plaguebearers fell, thick black fluid Drakenhof Templars’ helms, while
the shadow of an upturned cart, and bubbling from their wounds. Others distended proboscises latched around
began pelting Karkanoth with their glanced morosely at the lances Karkanoth’s shoulders, hauling him
own frothing dung. trapped in their distended flesh, then into the skies, never to be seen again.

Chapter 2 | 65
 To the south, Vlad at last beheld the Brachanasta spat the vile mouthful A sudden buzzing from above drew
armoured form of Luthor Huss on the away, then drew back in preparation Mannfred’s attention, and he rolled
slope, and saw also the vile spirit who for another bite. As he did so, the sideways in the saddle just quickly
held the warrior priest in his sway. Great Unclean One opened his mouth enough to avoid a plague drone’s
The vampire’s gaze flared with dark wide. Heaving once, Pusregnant grasping proboscis. With a snarl,
energies. Withering bolts leapt from vomited a stream of maggots, bile and the vampire thrust his staff high,
his eyes and blasted a dozen zombies seething corruption out over rotting withering bolts blazing from its tip.
to dust, opening a path deeper into teeth and into the vampire’s face and The grasping daemon burst into dust,
the horde. Ignoring the burning mouth. Blinded, Brachanasta tore as did the two either side of it, and
in his blood, Vlad leapt into the his talons free from the daemon’s those who remained veered away,
space, widening the gap with short, flesh and reeled away, his maddened buzzing suddenly angry. A beast of
methodical strokes. He knew that if swipes scattering zombies and Nurgle bounced towards Mannfred,
the Nameless was destroyed, half the plaguebearers from his path. He could eager tongue lolling. Ashigaroth’s
battle would be ended. Hoping that already feel his innards dissolving, talons lashed out, tearing the daemon
his unspoken pact with Mannfred as the rapacious organisms teeming apart in mid air. The two halves
would endure until that goal could be in Pusregnant’s bile multiplied within landed beneath the dread abyssal’s
achieved, Vlad hacked deeper into the his flesh. The varghulf tried to roar in feet with a wet thud, the creature’s
enemy ranks. defiance, but no sound issued from eyes staring skyward in puzzlement.
his open mouth, only a spill of thick,
Huss’ lips twitched into an empty brownish slime. As Brachanasta
smile. As one, the zombies in the collapsed onto one knee, the brackish
south turned their attention from fluid dripping from between his fangs,
Mannfred and closed in on Vlad. Pusregnant brought his notched and
Blood Drinker stabbed and cut, rusted sword about and struck the
sending limbs and rotting guts spilling varghulf’s head from his body.
to the ground, but the ring of dead
flesh grew tighter and tighter. Mannfred reached the western
courtyard to see that he had
Mannfred saw Vlad vanish from abandoned one impossible situation
sight beneath the zombies’ flailing to join another. In the centre, Harkon
arms, and was torn by choice. On and Drekla fought alongside the
the one hand, it warmed his cold last of the Drakenhof Templars,
heart to see Vlad so ignominiously a shrinking ring of defiance that
slain. On the other, he knew his own Mannfred knew would scarcely last.
chances of survival were greatly Zombies and plaguebearers pressed
diminished without his sire’s aid. close all about, the former echoing the
Coming to a decision, he held Huss’ Nameless’ whispered chant, the latter With a booming laugh that shook
gaze long enough to sneer, then urged droning their never-ending count. the Dead and Buried’s timbers,
Ashigaroth back up the slope, and Pusregnant charged through the
into the battle raging in the western Harkon’s insanity had grown deeper splintered fence and into the western
courtyard. Vlad was abandoned. as the battle had raged. He hurled courtyard. Three plaguebearers
nautical insults with every thrust, and two Drakenhof Templars were
Further to the west, Brachanasta’s the tangle of words so obscure as to crushed beneath the greater daemon’s
claws and fangs had shredded be unintelligible. Drekla, by contrast, massive bulk, but the impediment
Pusregnant’s warty skin in a dozen fought without speaking, his heavy barely slowed Pusregnant. He whirled
places. The varghulf pounced again, cutlass rising and falling like an his massive rusty blade in a slow
too swift for the daemon’s lumbering executioner’s axe, ichor and slime but implacable arc, scything down
sword, heavy claws latching onto spattering his barnacle-encrusted a dozen zombies and the last of the
the daemon’s shoulders as his fangs coat. The captain used his hook to midnight-armoured warriors.
lunged to tear out Pusregnant’s pinion his foes in place, trapping
throat. Unfortunately for the varghulf, them beneath the brutal impact of Harkon saw the beast approach.
the daemon’s flaccid jowls made his blade. From time to time he had Spitting an oath that would have made
locating his throat a very chancy to forgo this tactic in order to latch the hoariest of merchantmen blush,
proposition indeed, and his teeth hold of Harkon’s crossbelt, to stop he hurled himself at Pusregnant.
succeeded only in tearing away a his master’s madness carrying him Roaring with mirth, the Great Unclean
gobbet of festering fat. deeper into the horde. One swung his flail, the linked skulls

66 | Chapter 2
chattering as they hurtled through the warped spine. Ashigaroth leapt clear
air. The impact would have pulped as the Great Unclean One’s corpse
Harkon’s flesh to ruin had they struck, slumped forward, almost crushing
but once again Drekla hauled his Harkon beneath its bulk.
master clear. This time, however, the
captain did so at the cost of his own Mannfred felt the daemon’s vile spirit
miserable existence. The cluster of rise out of the dead heap of flesh,
laughing skulls missed their intended and moved quickly to snare its power
target, but struck Drekla across the as his own. Much of it escaped,
chest and tore him apart. streaming past the vampire and into
the Realm of Chaos. Nevertheless,
For a vital second, Pusregnant’s the greater daemon’s essence was
attention was fixed on the chunks of many times more potent than any
meat that had once been Drekla. It other being upon the battlefield,
was in that moment that Mannfred and even the scraps Gheistvor stole
struck, goading Ashigaroth into a were sufficient to heal the last of
leap that carried them high over the Ashigaroth’s pestilent wounds.
zombies and daemons that milled
in-between. Pusregnant bellowed in So absorbed was he in capitalising
fury as Ashigaroth’s talons sank into upon Pusregnant’s destruction that
the putrid skin of his back, and again it took the von Carstein a moment to
as withering bolts of magic stripped realise that everything around him
his left shoulder to the bone. Sinew had gone suddenly still. Plaguebearers
unravelled, and the flail fell from the stood in serried lines around him,
daemon’s grasp, but Pusregnant was glaring resentfully from beneath
blessed with flesh in abundance, and beetled brows, but making no move
would not fall so easily. to draw closer. Even the swarms of
squalling nurglings had scurried away
The daemon heaved and twisted, to hide beneath the stinking flesh of
trying to dislodge the dread abyssal their late father.
from his back. As he did so, Harkon
lunged forward, his cutlass spearing A slow handclap drew Mannfred’s
deep into the Great Unclean One’s attention. Isabella sat atop one of
seeping guts. Stinking fluid splashed the few unsplintered fence posts,
across Harkon’s sword arm, and skirts gathered delicately around her.
crowing nurglings tumbled forth With a laugh, she jumped down into
from Pusregnant’s bowels, scratching the corpse-strewn yard, her hand
and biting at the vampire who had outstretched. Plaguebearers pressed
disturbed their slumber. Harkon in close around her, the flies swelling
ignored them, and ripped his blade and billowing as they came.
free of the daemon’s guts with a
sound like tearing cloth. Mannfred had little desire to risk
another encounter with Isabella, but
Pusregnant bellowed again, his heavy he no longer had the need to do so.
sword plunging down to split the Giving the countess a mocking wave,
vampire admiral in twain. At that very he directed Ashigaroth skyward.
moment, Mannfred lunged down with Harkon, mad though he was, saw
all his strength, the tip of Gheistvor the sense in the Lord of Sylvania’s
piercing the folds of flesh about the departure. Too spent for flight, he ran
Great Unclean One’s skull, and then up the mound that was Pusregnant’s
splitting the thick, crusted ridge of corpse, then flung himself upward,
bone beneath. grasping for a handhold on
Ashigaroth’s flank. Harkon’s straining
Pusregnant’s dying roar cut off as fingers locked around a nodule of
Gheistvor’s steel passed through the bone, and he too was borne clear of
base of his festering brain and into his the swirling flies below.
 However, Mannfred had neither the A dozen daemons had sunk lifeless Getting to her feet once more, Isabella
desire nor need to save Harkon’s to join the mass of corpses when flicked slime from her fingers with an
wretched existence. With a snarl, their ranks parted to allow Isabella’s air of distaste. It was unfortunate that
the Lord of Sylvania lashed out. passage. She regarded the crippled Mannfred had escaped, but she could
Gheistvor’s enchanted blade hacked Harkon for a moment, a slight smile sense that the present battle was not
through Harkon’s arm, severing it at playing across her face, ignoring the yet done.
the elbow. As Mannfred sped south to vile torrent of curses that spilled from
report his failure, a piece of Harkon the other’s lips. Then, without giving On the southern slopes, Vlad at last
still clinging to his mount, the vampire voice to a single word, she stepped emerged from beneath the choking
admiral plunged back into the fate he inside the arc of Harkon’s flailing folds of dead flesh in a shower of
had sought to escape. cutlass. Isabella’s own blade parried limbs, the effort costing him dearly
the admiral’s strike. Before Harkon in both strength and will. Blood
Harkon’s fall was cushioned by the could attempt another, Isabella Drinker cleared a path for him as Vlad
thick carpet of dead in the courtyard, stamped hard on the flat of his blade, struggled back up the slope, but the
but not sufficiently. There was a trapping it against the soft flesh of lesions had returned, and infected
sound like a rotten bough breaking his victims. The countess’ own sword blood trickled from the joints in his
as he landed, his lower left leg blurred once, and Harkon’s weapon- armour. The vampire knew that his
twisting sideways at a sickening angle hand fell twitching from his wrist. time was swiftly running out. Not
and pitching him face-first into the knowing that his allies were now all
mounds of the slain. Still the Lord of As Harkon’s fresh stream of agonised slain or fled, he staggered back up the
the Vampire Coast did not give up. vitriol split the air, Isabella gestured slope towards the Dead and Buried,
Shouting with madness and with pain, to the plaguebearers. They came hacking zombies to pieces as he went.
he pushed himself up onto his knees forward, seizing Harkon by his ruined
by jamming the point of his cutlass arms and holding him fast. Ignoring Seeing Vlad begin his retreat, the
downward into the trampled dead. the spittle that flecked her face, she Nameless bade Huss spur his steed
knelt before Harkon. Murmuring forward. As he rode, the warrior
As the daemons crowded close, calming words utterly at odds with priest hefted his blessed hammer,
Harkon sent the heavy blade sweeping the cruel smile upon her lips, she and readied a strike to take the von
out in an arc before him, slitting the took the vampire’s head in her hands Carstein’s head from his shoulders.
flesh of plaguebearers’ bellies and as might a lover, and held him tight. Warned by the thud and squelch of
groins. He shouted a fresh challenge Isabella watched with rapt delight hooves upon soft, dead flesh, Vlad
with each foe that fell, daring the as her curse took hold. In moments, swung around to face his foe, and
daemons to face his cutlass, to finish Harkon’s undead body had collapsed searched desperately for a means to
what Mannfred had begun. into foetid liquid. reverse his fortunes.

T he hammer swung down. Vlad parried, the shock of

the impact running up his arm and eliciting a hiss
of pain.
Huss gave a pained grimace. This time, the hammer
came down a little faster than before – or perhaps Vlad
was slower, weakened by the Glott’s plague. Either way,
‘Priest! I know you can hear me,’ Vlad shouted, it slammed into Vlad’s shoulder, sending him spinning
throwing himself aside from a blow that would have into a dozen grasping hands. Vlad hacked and cut,
cracked granite. ‘You’re a puppet, a plaything to the severed hands and forearms, but more came forward to
same manner of creature you’ve dedicated your life hold him fast.
to destroying.’ ‘I told you, he cannot hear,’ the Nameless repeated,
Huss made no reply, but the Nameless did, the words urging Huss forward. The great hammer came up once
issuing forth not only from the warrior priest’s mouth, again, the warrior priest’s lips twisting into a smile not
but also from the zombies who crowded in on Vlad. his own.
‘He cannot hear you. He is mine.’ ‘Then perhaps he is a coward,’ Vlad replied, trying
Vlad ignored the taunt and ducked back, his sword in vain to pull free of the zombies surrounding him.
splitting a pair of zombies in two. Despite the Nameless’ ‘Too weak of spirit to defend his faith.’ Again Huss’ face
words, he felt a spark of defiance flare within Huss’ twisted. ‘Or perhaps he needs only the opportunity to
mind. The vampire bent his own will upon the warrior prove his worth?’
priest, prying at the dark fog around Huss’ mind. The hammer smashed down again. Vlad sent his will
‘This is how you uphold Sigmar’s memory, priest?’ on a foray into the Wind of Death, hoping beyond hope
Vlad mocked. ‘By doing the Dark Gods’ work?’ that his gamble would succeed.

68 | Chapter 2
As the hammer swept down, Vlad For the Nameless, with the better part He could not risk controlling them, for
threw all but the last of his strength of his spirit still lodged in the warrior his will was fading fast, and he knew
into a single, desperate conjuring. The priest’s flesh, the consequences were that he would need what remained
Wind of Death responded to him as it far, far worse. The spirit evaporated to hold his own decomposing form
always had, and in an instant the von like a shadow suddenly caught in the together. What power he could regain
Carstein’s will sped around the Dead noon-day sun, his scream choked from the banishing, Vlad once more
and Buried. off as the power of Huss’ faith used to check the advance of the
blazed bright. The spirit gave a last, Glott’s plague. The reprieve was
Through Huss, the Nameless laughed, tremulous wail, then was consumed less than before, for the affliction
the sudden amusement causing him utterly by the fire. had burrowed deep during his
to check the hammer-blow. Hundreds confrontation with the Nameless, but
of broken and lifeless corpses hauled Across the battlefield, zombies the reclaimed magic gave Vlad the
themselves upright once more, given shackled to the spirit’s will screamed strength to continue.
fresh vigour by Vlad’s spell, but it did once in echo of their former master,
not end there. The ground rumbled, then slumped, slack-jawed. Huss did As the nearby zombies collapsed,
the damp sod crumbling apart as not notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. Huss grimaced at vengeance denied,
long-buried dead hauled themselves He spurred along the slope, holy fire then felt his wrath deepen as
to the surface. The Nameless laughed coursing forth from his hammer to plaguebearers began to shamble out
again, and bent his fearsome will to consume reanimated flesh. Soon there of the darkness. At once, he saw that
take for himself the puppets that his was a ring of blackened and flaming he was surrounded, that there were
foe had so kindly provided. Just as flesh all about the warrior priest. too many for him to fight alone. A
Vlad had hoped. Only Vlad was left untouched. Huss second, blacker scowl grew out of the
recalled everything the Nameless had first. Riding back to where Vlad still
As the Nameless took control over seen through his eyes. He loathed the knelt, the warrior priest hesitated,
his new minions, the tiniest crack thought of fighting alongside Vlad as then reached low, his outstretched
appeared in the cage about Huss’ an ally – even though the vampire hand raising the vampire to his feet.
mind. It was the tiniest of chinks, had been titled as an elector count.
caused by the sudden strain on the Nevertheless, the warrior priest
Nameless’ will, but it was what Vlad realised that they shared a foe at that
had been waiting for. The vampire moment, and so spared Vlad from the
focussed on that crack, hammered it. blessed flames.
Alone, he could never have managed
it, not in his weakened state, but Vlad As Huss raged through the foe, Vlad
was not alone. sank to his knees and unbound his
earlier enchantments, sending the
Golden light flared in the darkness as greater part of the zombie horde
Luthor Huss at last broke free of the collapsing into lifelessness.
Nameless’ control. The warrior priest
bellowed with humiliation and rage,
the power of his faith transforming the
wordless shout into a raging column
of holy fire. Even from a lance’s length
away, Vlad felt the heat of Huss’s
wrath blister his skin.
 For a long moment, the vampire and the priest stood
motionless as the daemons grew closer, and their sonorous
drone grew ever louder. They exchanged no words, just
‘H iding behind a priest,’ Isabella tutted as Vlad
approached. ‘Have you truly become so weak?’
Vlad halted two paces from her, fighting back
a brief look that expressed their shared disbelief at the elation and dismay. The plaguebearers that encircled
situation more clearly than mere speech ever could. Then the vampire were so distant from his thoughts that
Huss raised his hammer high, and bellowed the name of they might as well have not existed.
his warrior god. Wreathed in fire, he charged without fear ‘I hide behind no one,’ he replied, taking a step to
into the fly-wreathed mass, his hammer striking defiance his left. Isabella matched the motion, and the two
with every blow. Vlad shrugged, as if at some joke only began to circle one another. ‘And I find my recent
he understood, then followed wordlessly in the warrior allies – however they might fly in the face of tradition
priest’s wake. – far more palatable than those you’ve chosen. But
then, you’re not truly who you appear, are you? The
It was a great pity no chronicler witnessed the fight that stench of the daemon is not easily hidden.’
ensued. The world would never see the like again, and Isabella smiled thinly. ‘Oh, it is I, my beloved. The
the two allies would surely have denied that it had ever daemon you sense merely grants me the power to
happened, had anyone spoken of it. Both Vlad and Huss indulge my wishes. Great Nurgle has yielded what you
knew that escape was impossible, but that knowledge only always withheld: the chance to seize my own destiny,
fed their determination. and the ability to shape it.’
‘You were my wife. I denied you nothing.’
Huss was weary from months of the Nameless’ abuse, but ‘I was your pet, forever in your shadow,’ she retorted.
his faith was an endless reservoir of strength. His flames ‘The daemon is twisting your memories. We were
reduced plaguebearers to ash, the thick smoke of their always equals.’
passing smothering and scattering the fly swarms. His Vlad came to a halt and doubled over as a fit of
hammer glowed with golden light, a beacon of hope in coughing wracked his body, infected blood welling
the darkness. Plagueswords shattered beneath its impact, across his face.
daemonic flesh shrivelled and burned. ‘Then prove it,’ said Isabella. ‘Join me in the
Plaguefather’s service. You cannot escape the blessing
Vlad, ailing once more from the Glott’s disease, in your blood this side of death, so embrace it. Be
nevertheless refused to be found wanting in comparison to reborn a vessel of decay.’
his mortal ally. Blood Drinker matched Huss’ hammer kill ‘Then that is what all this was about?’ Vlad asked,
for kill, the blows more ragged and less precise than Vlad his poise mostly recovered. ‘Recruiting me to the
was accustomed to delivering, but serviceable enough. cause of your master?’
Huss fought for holy vengeance, to seek absolution for ‘No,’ she said. ‘My labours in Sylvania have only
the deeds he had performed when under the Nameless’ just begun. But Great Nurgle will accept you, if I wish
control, but the vampire fought only so that he might catch it. He has told me so.’
sight of Isabella one last time. Vlad did not even have to consider his response.
Every day since Nagash had resurrected him, he
Vlad’s wish was granted at last in the moon-cast shadow had sought to restore his beloved Isabella, had
of the Dead and Buried’s ruined tower. At one moment, compromised and bargained for her return. Now she
Huss was tall in his stirrups, his hammer staving in the stood before him, there could be only one answer.
skull of a corpulent herald. At the next, a shadow dropped ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘What you ask, I cannot give.’ He
onto the haunches of his steed from high amongst the dropped his sword. ‘I once thought I would have passed
rubble, and blood sprayed into the darkness as Isabella slit into any darkness to be at your side, but I was wrong.’
his throat from ear to ear. Isabella looked at him sharply. ‘Reconsider, beloved.
There is no escape for you here. Refusal means death.’
Vlad heard Huss’ last gurgling cry, and turned to see Vlad snorted. ‘I came back from the void for who
his beloved Isabella tip the warrior priest’s body from you once were, not to be taunted by the creature you
the saddle. With fluid grace, she then slid to the ground have become. I return there gladly – this world has
herself, and planted one foot upon Huss’ breastplate like a nothing else to offer me.’
hunter posing with a trophy. Vlad did not move as Isabella raised her hands to
his face. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of
At once, the plaguebearers went still in anticipation of remorse in her dark eyes. Then, cold fingers brushed
what was to come. Vlad strode towards Isabella, sword his skin, and the boiling in his blood grew swiftly to a
drawn. The daemons parted before him, their endless raging crescendo.
drone muted, and Vlad von Carstein, first of the vampire In the last moment before death claimed him, Vlad
counts, went to meet his destiny. von Carstein swore revenge upon a god.

70 | Chapter 2
T he Verminlord’s stench was foul, a mix of putrefying
flesh and mange-ridden fur. The creature’s head
twitched constantly from side to side as it towered
‘You wish us to delve-dig beneath the city?’ the
Verminlord asked, peering down at Archaon’s throne,
its eyes lingering where Ghal Maraz protruded from the
over the Everchosen’s throne, warpstone-flecked spittle cluster of bone. The Hammer of Sigmar was Archaon’s
oozing from beneath its chisel-teeth. Despite the prize, taken from the dead hand of the whelp Valten.
Verminlord’s hunched posture, it was tall – so tall that It served both as a trophy, and as a warning to all who
it dwarfed the Everchosen’s skull throne and cast a long approached the throne. ‘Is dangerous work. Expensive
shadow over Archaon himself. Fleas crawled through the work. Require many slaves.’
creature’s greasy hide, swarming across the sores and ‘I understood that the Children of the Horned Rat had
boils that marred the patches of naked flesh. Its posture pledged themselves to the Dark Gods’ cause.’ Archaon
was at once obsequious and opportunist, declaring its let the accusation linger, unasked.
intention to serve only until its master turned his back. The Verminlord tilted its head to one side, and
Just standing in the same room as the creature filled changed tack, seeking advantage in the situation. ‘What
Archaon with contempt. Allies they might be, but the do you seek-find that is so important?’
Everchosen knew he would never feel kinship with the ‘Something very old. It will deliver the world into the
vermin who had the audacity to walk like men. Dark Gods’ hands.’
A gleam crept across the creature’s beady eyes.
‘Is precious?’
Archaon did not doubt that the creature’s mind was
already awhirl with schemes to seize the Everchosen’s
prize. Did the Verminlord know how transparent its
desires were? It didn’t matter. If anything, it made the
creature easier to control. Greed and fear were the twin
lashes that drove the skaven soul, and Archaon knew
how to wield them both.
‘It is without price,’ the Everchosen said.
‘Then we will seek-find it, as you ask. I shall see to
it personally.’
The creature turned to leave. Archaon raised a
gauntleted fist, and four black-armoured Swords of
Chaos moved to bar its path. The lash of greed had
done its work. Now it was time to let the lash of fear
bite deep.
‘It is so precious, and so important,’ said Archaon,
‘that he who stole it would be pursued to the ends of the
world. He would find no safe harbour in this realm or
that which lies beyond, for neither god nor mortal would
dare shelter him. One day, sooner than he would think
possible, the daemons of the four powers would find
him. Every inch of skin would be flayed from his body,
his soul quartered and shredded. And only then would
his true torment begin.’
The Everchosen’s words hung on the air for a time.
The Verminlord did not turn to face Archaon, but
its scabbed tail twitched restlessly as the daemon
considered its response.
‘We will seek-find it,’ the creature repeated, half
turning to shoot Archaon a look that was part plea, part
venom. ‘For the glory of the gods.’
Satisfied, the Everchosen lowered his fist and the
Swords of Chaos parted. Without another word, the
Verminlord heaved aside the heavy door, and vanished
into the night.
‘For the glory of the gods,’ Archaon echoed, reaching
up to run his fingers along Ghal Maraz’s rune-carven
steel. ‘Those that truly exist.’
 When Mannfred returned So it was that Mannfred recounted and yet emerged victorious. It was not
to the Nine Daemons, he his dire tidings to Arkhan, rather than complacency that guided Arkhan’s
found a vast army of the their master. The Lord of Sylvania was strategy, but grim, relentless certainty.
dead mustering around careful to recast the arrogance and He knew absolutely and in exacting
the Black Pyramid. Legion upon legion missteps – and therefore the blame detail the capabilities of Nagash’s
of skeleton warriors stood unmoving for the defeat – as belonging solely forces, and saw, at worst, a bruising
beneath their banners – not just the to the unlamented Luthor Harkon. He stalemate upon the shores of the lake
graveborn dead of Sylvania, but the would dearly liked to have held Vlad surrounding the pyramid.
golden hosts of broken Nehekhara. accountable for what had transpired
Ghoul packs nested in the hills around at Grim Moor. However, he did not yet Nevertheless, Arkhan was nothing if
the Lake of Death, fighting over old know if his sire had been slain at the not cautious – additional forces could
bones and worshipping Nagash Dead and Buried, and did not wish to only improve the chances of ultimate
from a prudent distance. Bat-winged risk his tale on such an unknown. victory. Besides, Mannfred had
monstrosities lurked beneath the failed in his responsibilities, however
eaves of the dead forests, and spirits Arkhan listened impassively to the ambivalent Nagash had felt about
flickered across the lake’s amethyst Lord of Sylvania’s words, giving the his success. Such laxness required a
waters. Towering over all were other no clue as to his thoughts. He punishment, even if it was only one
necrotectural constructs of stone and suspected that the vampire was lying crafted to humiliate, rather than leave
polished metal, patiently awaiting the about much of what had occurred a more lasting brand of failure. Thus
order that would send them striding on Grim Moor, but cared little. In was Mannfred permitted to linger
into battle. truth, neither Arkhan or Nagash at the Nine Daemons for only the
overly lamented the possibility of shortest of times. Within hours, he
Here and there, Nehekharan royal failure in the north – the vampire was flying east to the mountains, with
standards gleamed in the darkness, had been despatched as much to test instructions to offer Neferata anything
but not as many as had begun the the invaders’ strength as anything she wished in exchange for her return
long march from the south. Too many else, though he realised it not. It was to the Great Necromancer’s side.
of the desert kings had given offence unfortunate that the battle had also
– unwitting or otherwise – to Arkhan cost Nagash the services of Luthor Mannfred was less than pleased to
the Black, and had thus forfeited their Harkon, but not desperately so. The be playing the role of a courier, but
right to exist. To offend Arkhan was to pirate admiral had time and again consoled himself with the fact that
offend his accursed master, and both betrayed himself as the weakest card the depth of his failure had been
bore insults poorly, to say the least. in Nagash’s hand, and his services concealed from Nagash’s sight.
were easily dispensed with. Each Even so, the vampire fought against
It was plain to Mannfred that Nagash of the surviving Nehekharan kings the command, until Arkhan implied
had already learnt of his defeat. It commanded might equal to Harkon’s, greater knowledge of the events on
was therefore with some trepidation and moreover they were motivated by Grim Moor. Unwilling to call the
that the Lord of Sylvania arrived at duty, rather than madness. Arkhan inscrutable liche’s bluff, and thus risk
the Black Pyramid, for he knew that knew that replacement Mortarchs the wrath of Nagash, Mannfred had at
failure was rewarded in much the would be appointed from within their last agreed.
same generous vein as insult. Seldom ranks when Nagash arose from his
did a sunless day pass in Sylvania slumbers, a new brotherhood of the The Lord of Sylvania took no
where the vampire did not curse dead for him to shepherd in service to companions upon the journey, save
the fact that he himself had made it his dark majesty. perhaps his blossoming resentment.
possible for Nagash to return and thus With every hour that passed, he was
blight his existence. Mannfred’s account of the battle less the master of his own land, and
did at least confirm the scale of more an ill-used servant. Something
As matters transpired, it was Arkhan, the invasion. In truth, one census would have to be done.
not Nagash, who received Mannfred legion – no matter how vast – did
in the Black Pyramid’s golden throne not trouble Arkhan, not when set The Neferata that Mannfred found
room. The Great Necromancer against the forces mustered in the at the Silver Pinnacle was not the
still slumbered in the depths of the Black Pyramid’s shadow. Even if one he recalled parting company
structure, drawing the hoarded death others followed after, the Liche King with months before. The Queen of
magic into his skeletal form. The Liche was confident that they could be Mysteries’ legendary composure was
King knew better than to disturb his destroyed without troubling the Great but a distant memory, her manner
master for anything save the most Necromancer. After all, the Mortarchs wild and her temper ever close to
apocalyptic tidings. had faced greater odds in Nehekhara breaking point.

Chapter 2 | 75
 Part of the reason for this was
immediately obvious. The once-
luxurious chambers of her stronghold
‘M y commiserations on
your loss, your majesty.’
Mannfred could not quite
Meanwhile, Isabella’s army continued
its march across Sylvania, her path
straight as an arrow towards the
had been ransacked during her long conceal his amusement. The Black Pyramid. She made no attempt
absence, first by dwarfs, then by once-glorious chamber was in to raise the dead to fight in her
skaven, and at last by goblins. The ruins, its fineries looted and its cause – driving Arkhan to speculate
most recent invaders had been in walls daubed in goblin graffiti. as to whether the countess was any
residence upon Neferata’s return, Neferata turned and shot him longer able to do so – but she did
and their corpses still lay littered a look of pure poison. ‘Your not want for reinforcements all the
about the place, their bodies bearing words do not interest me.’ same. As Arkhan had anticipated,
evidence of the most terrible wounds. Mannfred shook his head. ‘It two other census legions joined the
Of the trinkets and fineries, the ill becomes one of your stature advance, their shambling ranks drawn
precious treasures Neferata had to lie so transparently. Had you into the mortal world by the plague
spent several lifetimes accumulating, not desired to speak with me, blossoming in Isabella’s footsteps.
nothing remained – all had been you would have had me turned
stolen or destroyed. back at what is left of the gate.’ Krell was given the task of slowing
‘Am I to imagine that would the daemons’ advance where he
Yet the heaviest blow had fallen not have stopped you?’ could, and the wight king dutifully
against Neferata’s possessions, but ‘Probably not, but a token threw the most savage and bestial of
against her true passion: information. effort could have been made. Sylvania’s denizens into the daemons’
The tumult that had wracked the Old Besides, the words I bring are path. Such battles invariably ended
World since Nagash’s return had not my own. Arkhan requests in a one-sided slaughter, but Arkhan
wrought ruin upon her network of that you return to Sylvania.’ cared not. The Liche King placed little
spies and contacts. Hundreds of her ‘Arkhan does not make trust in vampires, and none at all in
handmaidens had perished during requests. He gives instructions.’ those who were driven by ravenous
the skaven uprisings, or as Chaos ‘Indeed so, but he instructed hunger. Thus, he ordered Krell to
overtook the Empire. Mannfred that you should be offered spend their lives carelessly. Better
suspected a good many had simply whatever you wished.’ that as many varghulfs and vargheists
abandoned their loyalty to the Queen ‘I’m not interested in the as possible perish far away from the
of Mysteries, instead choosing to liche’s petty favours.’ Black Pyramid, somewhere where
vanish beneath the cover of the ‘And, in truth, nor am I. He their ill discipline would not endanger
unfolding anarchy. Not that he said as and his master have stolen my a carefully crafted battle plan.
much to Neferata, of course. realm, and I see little prospect
of regaining it. Not until they Wasteful though Krell’s tactics might
Thus, much to Mannfred’s surprise, are destroyed.’ have been, they nonetheless left the
Neferata swiftly acceded to his ‘Then destroy them,’ said daemonic host battered and bloodied.
request. The life she had spent Neferata, disdain dripping from The wight king made no attempt to
centuries building was gone forever, her tongue. engage Isabella directly. The countess
and the Queen of Mysteries longed ‘Such a thing is not easily always travelled at the host’s heart,
to make someone pay for the loss. So done,’ said Mannfred. ‘Besides, and had taken no interest in personal
quickly did she agree that Mannfred I reckon my chances of survival combat since the siege of the Dead
did not initially trust the decision, to be far better in Nagash’s and Buried. Mannfred’s presence
and expected to receive a silver shadow than out of it, at least would perhaps have drawn her out,
dagger in his back the moment it was for now. An opportunity will but the Lord of Sylvania was yet many
turned. But then Neferata made one present itself. In the meantime, leagues away, and would surely not
small, almost trivial request, one it would behove me – behove have risked a second confrontation.
which Mannfred knew Arkhan would us – to take our pleasures where
be happy to meet. The bargain was we can, whilst we are able.’ As news of each skirmish reached
struck, the battered gates of Silver He shot a sly look at Neferata. him, Arkhan became ever more
Pinnacle were flung open one last ‘Now, I think we both know that convinced that Isabella was more
time, and the Queen of Mysteries rode there is in fact something within than merely the daemons’ leader;
to war. Arkhan’s gift that you might she was their anchor. Nurgle’s
dearly want?’ corruption spread only where she
The Queen of Mysteries’ lips walked, and the invaders’ grip upon
parted in a thin smile. the mortal world was far stronger
‘Khalida.’ when she was near. Whatever Nurgle

76 | Chapter 2
planned, Isabella was surely the at hand. But it was in the centre of
key, and Arkhan grew increasingly the battle line, arrayed across the
convinced that she sought entrance isthmus, that Arkhan placed his true
to the Black Pyramid, to claim its strength. Krell would hold the bridge:
power for her own. This sacrilege Krell and the Doomed Legion. They
could not be permitted. Thus, by the would not do so alone.
time the daemons at last drew nigh
to the Black Pyramid, their approach Hidden beneath the swirling waters
driving the ghoulkin from their hilltop of the lake were hundreds upon
nests, Arkhan had arrayed his forces hundreds of morghasts. They could
with the intention of destroying endure in the raw death magic where
Isabella and rooting out the daemonic other beings could not, protected
corruption at its source. as they were by divine heritage –
however corrupted it had become.
Though the Black Pyramid’s The morghasts were Arkhan’s trap. All
foundations lay deep in the lake of that remained was to see if Isabella
death magic, it was connected to the would spring it.
shore by a narrow isthmus of stone
– the remains of the old roadway Isabella’s army was slow to attack.
leading to its gates. Few creatures – It assembled almost lazily along
daemon, mortal or undead – could the northern hills, expending time
touch the amethyst waters of the lake without care. Tallyband by tallyband,
and survive the contact. The isthmus, it shuffled into a line of battle a league
then, would be Isabella’s only point of away from the Black Pyramid. Bell-
approach, and Arkhan drew his battle hung banners chimed mournfully in
plans accordingly. the wind, and the low drone of the
plaguebearers’ endless counting was
like thunder on distant mountains.
Ranks parted as nurglings dragged
palanquins to the fore, so that their
masters might better survey the
field of battle. Great Unclean Ones
lumbered through the ranks, offering
Arkhan was ancient, his tactics fond words of encouragement that
founded in the formalised battles went just as unappreciated as their
of the Nehekharan kingdoms, and foul-mouthed jokes.
he now put them to good use. He
assembled the hosts of Sylvania in Hours passed, and some of the tomb
an east-west line in opposition to kings sent messengers to Arkhan,
the daemons’ advance; wide enough begging leave to march forth and
so that his armies would overlap the attack. The Liche King refused each
foe’s, and deep enough to withstand request. With the Lake of Death
their charge. Skeletal archers were set and the battlements of the Black
amongst the Black Pyramid’s towers, Pyramid at his back, his was the
their arrows nocked ready to bring superior position, and one he would
down any daemon that sought to not abandon. The banners of the
cross the Lake of Death on tattered daemon host grew thicker upon the
wings. The tomb king legions, with hills, its accompanying swarm of
their bristling spears and towering flies rivalling the clouds above, and
statue-constructs, guarded the far again messengers sought Arkhan’s
flanks. Their orders were to hold, to permission to sally forth. This time,
draw off what they could of the foe’s the Liche King sent Krell to deliver
strength. Arkhan gifted Mannfred and his response. Some time later, the
Neferata command of the near flanks. deathless wight brought Arkhan the
Save for Krell, these were his greatest severed head of King Pharak as proof
generals, and he wanted them near of a message delivered.
 For the better part of a day, the two praises in the garbled argot of the Nehekharan stupidity and led
hosts gazed implacably at each other plaguelands. Overhead, the sky the Lahmian Guard hard onto the
across the rock-strewn valley with a heaved as the fecund grandfather daemons’ left flank. Beneath her,
patience no mere mortal could have responded to the pleas of his Nagadron tore at the putrid flesh with
possessed. Then, for no reason that offspring. Meteors of frothing and voracious glee, and its mistress lashed
Arkhan could detect, there was a gangrenous matter hurtled out of the and spat at the plaguebearers in fury.
discordant clamour of bells, and the clouds, slamming into Arkhan’s battle Neferata had learned enough of the
plague daemons marched down from line. Bones snapped like rotten twigs, Empire’s fall to know that Nurgle’s
the hillside. or were pulverised to dust; golden followers had been the architects of
sphinxes and ushabti were crushed its demise. Whilst she cared nothing
The catapults began firing as soon flat, or dissolved by the missiles’ for the cattle who had lost their
as the Chaos host came in range, voracious secretions. miserable lives amongst the ruins,
flinging flaming skulls across the the Queen of Mysteries deplored
blackened sky. Soul-wrenching Beasts of Nurgle had reached the the senseless destruction of the
screams accompanied each payload, Nehekharan phalanxes now, bouncing bloodlines and spy networks she had
but the plaguebearers cared not. unconcernedly onto levelled spears, so carefully shaped. Each blow she
They trudged straight ahead, paying their wide, floppy grins turning struck was a tiny repayment for that
no attention to the fireballs bursting to offended scowls as the spears’ wasted effort, but the satisfaction it
amongst their ranks, or the mangled barbs dug deep. Before the creatures brought was fleeting.
bodies of their comrades left twitching were slain, their flailing tentacles
in the missiles’ wake. Arrows followed battered aside the front ranks’ shields, Further to the east, Mannfred von
soon after, the feathered shafts scattering bones and weapons far and Carstein had no desire to enter the
swarming through the skies like wide. The dry voices of liche priests fight in person. The last thing he
insects of singular mind and purpose. recited ancient incantations, and the wished to do was risk happening
The volleys plunged down into the bones bound themselves together to upon Isabella for a second time.
packed formations, punching deep fight anew. Instead, he battled only through his
into diseased flesh. Ragged holes undead minions, raising up hordes
began to open up in the leading Plague drones buzzed overhead, their of skeletons and hurling them
tallybands, holes soon exploited by riders hurling death’s heads that thoughtlessly at the foe. The mindless
the precisely timed charges of skeletal crawled with contagion. Bone rotted were no match for the daemons
horsemen ranging far ahead of the into dust where the shrunken missiles they faced, but it mattered little to
undead phalanxes. hit home, unmade beyond a liche Mannfred. So close to the lake of
priest’s ability to rebind them. To the death magic, the vampire’s spells
Still the daemons came onwards, west of Neferata, King Kantep directed were all but unstoppable, and he
untouched tallybands pressing his forces from a gilded sphinx- could replenish his minions far more
unenthusiastically in behind those howdah, until he was struck by three swiftly than the plaguebearers could
ravaged by arrow and artillery. such missiles. His ancient bones and hack them down.
Beasts of Nurgle were loosed from bindings unravelled within seconds of
corroded iron chains by handlers the strike. Angry voices split the air The battle lines buckled and shifted
worn almost to distraction by their as the king passed into true death, as the fickle fortunes of war began
exuberance, and bounded across dry curses spitting from the mouths to favour one warlord or another. On
the battlefield, easily outpacing the of Kantep’s princes as they ordered the extreme east of the undead line,
trudging plaguebearers. Nurglings their archers to scythe the fly-riders a Great Unclean One led a sudden
darted forward in fits and starts. from the skies. This their warriors surge of plaguebearers so deep into
At one moment, a cluster of the obediently did, the gold-tipped the tomb kings’ line that they almost
plaguemites stopped to squabble over arrows punching through carapace reached the lake’s shores. Then
a severed limb or shiny arrowhead. At and waxy skin to send the daemons a necrosphinx’s claws scissored
the next, they waddled forward for all spiralling groundwards. But these through the greater daemon’s
they were worth, high-pitched voices arrows were needed badly elsewhere. throat, and the attack lost all of its
squealing with excitement. As the plague drones perished, the momentum. As the corpulent daemon
plaguebearers advancing beneath gurgled into stillness, a rumble of
Another volley of screaming skulls them at last pushed forward into gongs propelled a phalanx of ushabti
smashed home, their fiery impacts Kantep’s legions. into a counter-attack. Heavy golden
hurling daemon corpses skyward. blades clove plaguebearers by the
In response, Great Unclean Ones Neferata saw the phalanxes to dozen, then graven feet stomped
raised their voices, singing Nurgle’s the west begin to buckle, cursed forward across rock slippery with

78 | Chapter 2
tangled gizzards. In the west, From the midpoint of the isthmus, skaven’s knowledge of that part of
nurglings swarmed over towering Arkhan surveyed the battlefield with Sylvania. Every whine and hiss of a
statue-constructs, squeezing beneath satisfaction. He watched Krell lead the drill risked flooding the tunnels with
armoured plates to pick and pry at Doomed Legion into their prepared seething death magic, as hundreds of
weakened mortar. And in the centre, retreat, and readied the magical the burrowers had – briefly – learned
Isabella at last emerged from ranks of summons that would unleash the to their cost. Even now, with time
her army, an ornate chalice clasped in lurking morghasts. The enemy were running short, the expedition’s leader,
one hand, a thin blade in the other. stronger and more numerous than Ikit Claw, hung far back from the
the Liche King had expected, but his exploratory boreholes, and ordered
Three Great Unclean Ones advanced preparations had served him well. that his tunnellers carved caissons
alongside the fallen countess, Isabella’s whole force was committed, and overflow chambers as they
nurglings bickering and squeaking and the turncoat witch was about to advanced. In this way, the warlock
about their feet, and plaguebearer walk straight into his trap. With her hoped that their accidents would not
tallybands marched in step alongside. destruction, the daemons’ anchor claim the lives of the assault party
The greater daemons’ countenances would be severed, and victory won – that followed close behind. More
were unusually stony, the customary all without rousing Nagash. However, importantly, he hoped it would not
humour of the plaguelords held in what the Liche King did not – could claim his life.
abeyance, for the moment at least. not – know, was that a third army had
Theirs was a sacred duty, handed come to the Black Pyramid. The Verminlords had given Ikit Claw
down from great Nurgle himself: to his mission long before Isabella von
see that the countess reached the Carstein had set foot in Sylvania. The
Black Pyramid unharmed. warlock had not wished to accept the
charge, had done all he could to avoid
As for Isabella, she shared none of leaving the safety of his workshops,
her escorts’ grimness, but advanced but now he took a measure of pride
on the isthmus with the manner of in the work. The warpgrinders and
a wronged queen reclaiming her burrowing machines were Claw’s own
birthright. Krell sent half-rotten designs, and he doubted that another
wolves against her, but Isabella waved could have provided the necessary
the creatures into dust mid-pounce. tools, or made such timely progress.
Terrorgheists slipped their roosts
upon the Black Pyramid’s flanks, and The tunnel ahead suddenly glowed
dove screeching against the countess. with violet light, the brief, panicked
At once, the Great Unclean Ones shrieks of a dying tunnelling team
pressed close, shielding Isabella with echoing along the walls. Claw
a wall of their own festering flesh. One skittered smartly aside as a spill of
had half of its ribcage torn away by roiling death magic bubbled past
skeletal claws and slumped lifelessly Far below, a deep-throated whine him and out into an overflow. The
forward, but not before its flail had echoed through Sylvania’s ancient chief warlock checked his clattering
crushed its killer’s skull. Another foundations. Sparks spat and hissed timepiece. It had been impressed
scooped up a handful of nurglings as warpstone drills bored at the living upon him to arrive neither too late,
and hurled them skyward. The mites rock, bringing their skaven bearers nor too early, but the timing mattered
squeaked in momentary terror before ever closer to their destination. little if his bones were stripped bare
bursting against a terrorgheist’s Dozens of teams laboured across by a flood of raw magic.
leathery wing in a smear of virulent three separate borings, three tunnels
fluids. The desiccated membrane that would deliver the army of ratmen Meanwhile, in a darkened chamber
rotted in seconds, pitching the up beneath the Lake of Death and far closer than Ikit Claw realised,
monster into a dive from which it directly into the bowels of Nagash’s Nagash awakened from his slumbers.
would never recover. It ploughed Black Pyramid. He could sense the Army of Blight
deep into a tallyband’s midst, and upon the lake’s shores, could feel
plagueswords hacked it apart before The expedition had started many the power of Chaos wedded to
any sorcery could reknit its wounds. weeks ago, and with hundreds Isabella’s undead bones. Hissing with
Abandoning her mortally wounded more excavating machines, but the frustration at plans disturbed, the
bodyguard, Isabella pressed on, approach had been treacherous. Great Necromancer rose from his
throwing her tallybands onto the The tectonic shifts that had created tomb, and prepared to join the battle
Doomed Legion’s corroded spears. the lake had made a mockery of the for the Black Pyramid.

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 GUARDIANS OF THE PYRAMID
The forces that awaited Isabella on her final approach to the Black Pyramid were the finest Arkhan could
have assembled. There was no weakness in this host, no self-serving desire that could leave Nagash’s plans in
jeopardy. This was a force mustered with a single purpose: to shatter the Army of Blight and send it reeling to
the Realm of Chaos in defeat.

NAGASH
Nagash arose from slumber reluctantly, for his absorption of Sylvania’s
death magic was still far from complete. Nevertheless, his might far
exceeded that of any mortal creature – including the other Incarnates.
Shyish, the Wind of Death, was suffused with the spirits of all those
who had ever perished, and its glory therefore surpassed that of all the
other winds, save for Ghyran, the Wind of Life. However, Nagash would
never be able to countenance anything so mundane as a belief in too
much power, and he was reluctant to give up the Lake of Death’s dregs.
Yet the Great Necromancer had awoken to a feeling of danger, of his
plans imperilled, and so had chosen to take a personal hand in the battle.

ARKHAN
For Arkhan, the world was at last succumbing to a long-anticipated order.
There existed only one last – if protracted – campaign, one that would see
Nagash finally defeat the mindless anarchy of Chaos. The world that followed
would be static and sterile, a timeless domain of endless order in which Arkhan
would gladly serve. The Liche King had no desires of his own, no reward in
mind for his tireless servitude. Arkhan served because he knew no other way,
no longer saw any destiny save for the one in which he sat at Nagash’s right
hand in a perfect, unchanging desolation.

KRELL
Krell had been destroyed many times, each time restored to existence by
Nagash’s sorceries. The wight king felt no resentment for his fate – he was
sworn, body and tarnished soul, to the Great Necromancer’s service, and
would have passed into final death with but a word from his dark master.
However, Krell saw no need for such sacrifices at the Siege of the Black
Pyramid. The Army of Blight, while large, was a clumsy and brutal weapon.
Krell had spent countless years destroying such forces, and was more than
ready to add another to his tally.

THE DOOMED LEGION

The deathless warriors of the Doomed Legion had fought at Krell’s
side since their mortal days. When they were alive, they fought for the
glory of Khorne, but in death the Doomed Legion serve Nagash no less
faithfully than does their chieftain. Krell had led only a portion of his
old warband on the Nehekharan campaign. However, on his return to
Sylvania, Nagash had despatched necromancers to the four corners
the Old World, bidding them recover the legion’s remains, and restore
them to their former glory. Thus was a terror of old restored beneath
its ash-dark banner, and the Doomed Legion made whole once more.

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 Nagash,
Supreme Lord of the Undead

Arkhan the Black,

Mortarch of Sacrament

Krell,
Mortarch of Despair

The Doomed Legion

One warband of Black Knights,
one warband of Grave Guard,
one warband of Skeleton Warriors

The Silent Legion

One host of Morghast Archai

THE GRAND MORGHAST HOST The Hollow Legion

The morghasts were once divine beings, the servants of the almighty god Ptra. One host of Morghast Archai
Slain by Nagash, they were remade in his bleak image, becoming harbingers
of death and despair. Many had been destroyed in the years of the Great The Bloodmoon Legion
Necromancer’s quiescence, but a great many more had survived, flocking from One host of Morghast Harbingers
their underground lairs to serve he who had corrupted them. Once Nagash
gained the full power of death magic, he intended to visit Ptra’s fate – and that The Forsworn Legion
of his heralds – upon each of the Chaos Gods, solidifying his position forever as One host of Morghast Harbingers
the only divine being in all of creation.
The Shrieking Haunt
One Tomb Banshee and
three haunts of Spirit Hosts

Melodrax,
Warden of the Sepulchre
Cairn Wraith

The Sepulchrex
Two guards of Ushabti,
one regiment of Tomb Guard

The Morghane
One Mortis Engine

THE SEPULCHREX
The ushabti guard of Nagash’s inner sanctum, the Sepulchrex responded
only to Nagash’s will – even Arkhan the Black, trusted though he was, had no
control over their actions. Many of the Nehekharan kings thought it strange
that Nagash would surround himself with graven images of the gods he had
cast down, but Mannfred von Carstein – himself no stranger to hubris – had
grasped the truth of the matter. The Sepulchrex bore the gods’ likenesses
precisely because Nagash had defeated them – they were reminders of a
cherished victory, their voiceless servitude one of the Great Necromancer’s few
remaining conceits.

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 THE ARMY OF BLIGHT
Isabella knew that Arkhan would muster his strongest troops to defend the isthmus, but it scarcely concerned
her. The daemon in her bones whispered to her of Ikit Claw’s progress, of the skaven tunnels inching ever
closer to the Black Pyramid. If all went to plan, it would not matter how many legions Arkhan had assembled...

ISABELLA VON CARSTEIN

The closer Isabella had drawn to the Black Pyramid, the more active and
insistent Bolorog became. The daemon brooked no delay, and drove the
countess on by recalling memories of her past life, and twisting them to imply
a degradation that never was. Bolorog had noted that Isabella’s resolve had
slowly faltered following her murder of Vlad, and the daemon wanted to ensure
that the countess remained in his grasp long enough for their shared mission to
be completed. Meanwhile, in the deepest corner of Isabella’s mind, the small,
self-aware part of her psyche screamed uselessly for release.

SCROFULOX
Last of three brothers who had commanded the Legion of Soulblight, Scrofulox
was reluctant to join Isabella’s assault on the isthmus, wishing instead to batter
Mannfred von Carstein to a soggy pulp with his monstrous fists. However, the
countess would brook no argument and, by the time the Army of Blight had
launched its attack, Scrofulox bore several angry scars as reminders of their
differing opinions. Bolorog had whispered in Isabella’s ear throughout, telling
her of where to twist her claws to ensure the Great Unclean One’s obedience.

THE LEGION OF CORPRUST

Corprust is one of Nurgle’s many creations that devours the bodies of the
dead. The inclusion of this particular census legion in the Army of Blight was
therefore no accident. Indeed, Isabella’s chalice, so often filled with mortal
blood in the days of the countess’ former existence, now contained ichor
extracted from the Legion of Corprust’s heralds, fermented and distilled to the
point of unstoppable virulence. The plaguebearers themselves were sullen, even
by their kind’s standards, not even cheered by the prospect of humbling the
self-titled Supreme Lord of the Undead.

IKIT CLAW
Little had changed for Ikit Claw since the ratmen had pledged their allegiance
to the Everchosen. The secrets of magic and technology had to be delved, and
who better than the chief warlock of Clan Skryre to lead the way? Nevertheless,
not even a skaven of Claw’s rank could entirely escape the changes that
were sweeping the Under-Empire, and he had found it prudent to undertake
the Sylvanian incursion, lest his dedication to the Horned Rat’s cause be
questioned. Claw consoled himself that no other could have accomplished the
mission with such style as he, and looked forward to witnessing the effects of
his specially designed warpbombs first-hand.

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 Isabella the Accursed

Scrofulox
Great Unclean One

Grorpox
Great Unclean One

Hartgnaw
Herald of Nurgle

Rottlescab
Herald of Nurgle

The Legion of Corprust

Eight tallybands of Plaguebearers,
three tallybands of Plague Drones,
two packs of Beasts of Nurgle
THE TECHNOX
Ikit Claw held the warlocks of the Technox as being as close to indispensable as The Legion of Soulblight
it was possible for skaven to be. This was to say that they weren’t sufficiently Two tallybands of Plaguebearers,
one tallyband of Plague Drones,
clever as to pose a direct threat to their master, but nor were they stupid
one pack of Beasts of Nurgle
enough to inadvertently imperil his goals. Each bore warp-powered equipment
of Claw’s design, complete with suicide switches that only the Chief Warlock
The Bickermites
knew. Furthermore, for that mission, each had also been granted a small but Three swarms of Nurglings
powerful warpbomb. No member of the Technox was aware of these devices’
true power or instability, for Claw had gone to great lengths to conceal that The Scablings
information from them. Four swarms of Nurglings

The Cacklerattles
Three swarms of Nurglings

The Plaguecrows
One flock of Chaos Furies

Ikit Claw

The Technox
Six Warlock Engineers

The Warpfangs
Four hordes of Clanrats, each with a
Warp-Grinder, three hordes of Clanrats,
each with a Warpfire Thrower,
one clawband of Warplock Jezzails

THE WARPFANGS
The Warpfangs were but one of the many claw-legions at Ikit Claw’s command.
A few of the clanrats were breedlings of Clan Skryre – most had been
purchased from other clans in exchange for massive shipments of experimental
weapons. Warpstone might have been the Under-Empire’s chief currency, but
there were always warlords willing to trade for a genuine Claw-crafted firearm.
Many of the Warpfangs carried refined and stabler versions of those same
mechanisms: warp-grinders, warplock jezzails and warpfire throwers.

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 SIEGE OF THE BLACK PYRAMID
The battle began in earnest when the had once been Isabella von Carstein, Dozens of wights were bowled from
Army of Blight’s leading tallybands so that the Doomed Legion could their feet, or had their skulls struck
had pushed halfway down the make an end of her. from their shoulders by a tentacle’s
isthmus. Krell uttered a wordless hiss, playful caress.
more the exhalation of a departing It was one thing for Krell to have such
spirit than an identifiable command, a plan. However, it was something Three of the beasts caught sight of
and the trap was sprung. else entirely for the daemons to the legion’s black banner twitching
permit its consummation. Scrofulox’s in the dark. Deciding that the ancient
With a bellow as deep as the roots ebullient voice rang out across the rag had all the makings of an excellent
of the mountains, the morghasts isthmus, bawling at his minions to toy, they lumbered joyfully towards
emerged from the Lake of Death. counter the morghasts’ attack. Plague it, ungainly mouths salivating in
Magic streamed from their wings, drones swarmed to blockade the anticipation. It was doubtful that the
the violet light casting inverted oncoming harbingers. The first wave daemons even saw most of the dozen
shadows in the darkness. Wailing perished, cut down by the morghasts’ wights they trampled, so fixed was
souls crackled and writhed around fearsome blows, but the second their attention on their dubious prize.
the morghasts’ weapons, victims of slowed them and the third halted
old bound to the fate and will of their their advance entirely. Bone shards Of the undead warriors clustered
slayers. Arkhan watched the host and fragments of daemonic carapace around the legion’s banner, only
swoop into the fight and felt a rare rained from the skies as the winged Krell stood firm. As a beast bounced
moment of satisfaction. The invaders opponents banked and dove. The towards him, the Mortarch of Despair
had experienced much success in the daemons were more numerous than braced his legs and leaned into
weeks leading to this point. It was their foes, but the morghasts were the impact. The pauldron of Krell’s
time at last for them to pay the price stronger, and nimbler upon the wing. armour slammed into the creature’s
of challenging Nagash. capacious gut, causing the daemon
On the isthmus below, the to draw back, an expression of
The daemons’ vanguard – a vast plaguebearers were still adapting puzzlement on its drooling face. The
plaguebearer tallyband – were to the altered circumstances. It confusion did not last long. Krell’s
the first to suffer the morghasts’ didn’t help that several nurglings gauntleted hands shifted on the
onset. Without slowing, the winged – possessing both an unsuspected Black Axe’s grips, and the enchanted
harbingers struck the daemons from ability to mimic Scrofulox’s stentorian blade came around to sever the
either side. Soul-wreathed weapons tone, and a complete lack of concern beast’s fleshy head. The other two
hacked down, ripping through flaccid about the battle’s outcome – had daemons, startled out of their playful
skin and rotting muscle, spilling limbs begun to utter confusing, and fug by their fellow’s demise, burbled
and innards as a sickly mess upon the oftentimes contradictory, orders. angrily and romped towards Krell.
stone. The plaguebearers responded It didn’t take long for the army’s But the Black Axe was still in motion.
sluggishly, turning to face the threat heralds to root out and squash the It whirled around in a brutal arc to
on their flanks, but those flanks offenders, but even that was too scythe through both beasts, leaving
were rapidly disintegrating under an much. Thus, tallybands that should them twitching upon the ground.
implacable onslaught. By the time have been formed and ready were still Ignoring the thick ichor splattered
the Doomed Legion’s horns sounded, disordered when the Doomed Legion across his armour, Krell gave a small
their barrow-spears carried into the struck them. Cursed barrow-blades – almost imperceptible – nod, and
slaughter, the tallyband was nothing thrust deep into daemonic flesh, and drove the Doomed Legion on towards
more than a pile of festering and scores more plaguebearers joined the their target.
dismembered bodies. ranks of the banished.
Towards the southern end of the
Without a moment’s hesitation, Even as the morghasts started to isthmus, Arkhan was far from
the morghasts swooped away once prevail in the battle for the skies, pleased by events. He had counted
again. This time, the legions divided, the beasts of Nurgle joined the fight. on the morghasts seizing mastery
each group of harbingers and archai They struck the Doomed Legion’s of the skies, but the daemons had
seeking their own target amongst the grave guard like bouncing, slobbering proven surprisingly resilient. Hissing
daemons’ second line. Their orders, battering rams, their vile spittle in irritation, the Liche King spread
imposed by Krell’s silent will, were gnawing away at armour and bone, his arms wide and reached out, not
simple: clear the way to the thing that their tentacles waving with delight. into the winds of magic, but into the

84 | Chapter 2
pure sorcerous essence of the Lake had possessed few expectations pooling wherever the daemons had
of Death. It came at his command, concerning the kings of Nehekhara. suffered their greatest losses. The
boiling skyward on each side of the Nagash had long since slain the daemons who fought amongst those
isthmus and crystallising into razor- cleverest of their number, leaving waters were untouched, but the
sharp amethyst shards. There was a what the Liche King – not entirely undead were dragged beneath the
thunderclap as Arkhan brought his unfairly – regarded as inbred half- surface by grasping hands that were
hands together, and a sudden flare of wits. Only Khalida, late of Lybaras, invisible through the murk. As the
light as the shards whipped across the was considered to be something undead were forced back, the sickly
approach to the pyramid. approaching an equal. The rest had broth bubbled. Plaguebearers lurched
earned nothing but Arkhan’s scorn, from the depths, the wounded and
The plague drones disintegrated in although they fought well enough. slain of the fighting restored to life
a heartbeat, torn to soggy scraps by Drawing his attention back to his by their god’s beneficent elixir. For
Arkhan’s sorcery. The plaguebearers own battle, Arkhan raised his arms Arkhan and Krell, Nurgle’s gift was
directly below fared scarcely better, skyward once more, and ushered a bitter reminder that there was no
for only those shielded by the the re-bound dead to crush those artifice of mortals that the gods could
corpses of their comrades survived daemons who remained. not match.
the barrage. Nurglings gurgled and
pitched to the ground, their bellies The battle could well have ended Sensing the battle slipping away
and skulls slit open by the shards. there and then. No matter how from him, Krell redoubled his
Beasts whined and collapsed. Only Scrofulox and Isabella harangued already prodigious efforts. The
Isabella went utterly unharmed, their minions, there were simply too wight king splashed on through the
and that only because Scrofulox many of the undead. The morghasts, frothing slime-pools, ignoring the
had seized her in the moment of the freed from their contest in the skies, gangrenous hands that clutched at
spell’s manifestation, and pressed flew freely about the battlefield, his greaves, and scarcely noticing the
her deep within the leathery folds preying on plaguebearers still reeling plaguesword-strikes that clanged off
of his paunch. The Great Unclean from Arkhan’s sorcerous onslaught. his armour. The Black Axe was a blur
One had suffered for his selflessness, Plagueswords and corroded gongs as it wove and spun, the endpoint
his skin torn ragged by the shards. clattered onto rock as their bearers of each motion simultaneous with a
Nevertheless, Isabella had no words were hacked down, and the odour of plaguebearer’s death. Behind Krell
of thanks, just a frozen expression of mangled and decaying flesh was rank came the Doomed Legion’s infantry,
revulsion and a pallor somehow paler upon the air. bound to his will as they had been
than was normal. for long centuries. Although their
Perhaps it was the stench that drew losses mounted with every step, still
But Arkhan was not yet done. With Nurgle’s wandering attention. Or the skeletons and wights trudged on
the death magic’s captive souls perhaps the Plaguefather had watched into the foe, stabbing and thrusting as
wailing around him, the Liche King Isabella’s progress from the start, they advanced.
uttered a second great enchantment determined that the Glottkin’s failure
hard upon the heels of the first. All would not be echoed by his newest From his vantage point, Arkhan
across the isthmus, the cracked emissary. Perhaps Nurgle was simply saw Scrofulox bully the nearest
and ruined bones of fallen undead bored, his eye wandering between plaguebearers into some semblance
twitched into life once more. The his eternal hobbies of concoction of a battle line. The sluggish daemons
magic flooded through morghasts, and libation. In any event, the were easy targets for Krell’s vicious
skeletons and wights, rebinding Plaguefather’s gaze was upon the strikes, and the liche deemed that
their broken bodies and instilling the Black Pyramid in that moment, and most were still disoriented by their
undamaged with renewed vigour. he decided to bequeath his gifts to recent resurrection. Even so, Nurgle’s
those who fought below. Leaning hard intervention had massively shifted the
As his spell reached completion, against his cauldron, Nurgle heaved battle’s course, and the odds facing
Arkhan sent his mind out east and the pitted and rusted pot onto its the Doomed Legion were enormous.
west beyond the isthmus, seeking side, spilling the contents through the Quickly discarding as an option the
tidings. What the Liche King saw cracks in reality and thus upon the indignity of requesting aid from either
pleased him greatly. To his immediate mortal world below. Mannfred or Neferata, Arkhan took
flanks, Mannfred and Neferata were the only other course open to him.
driving back the invaders with all the For Isabella and Scrofulox, Nurgle’s Summoning the morghasts to his
vented frustration at their command. gift was most welcome, if not entirely side, the Liche King urged his mount,
Further afield, even the tomb kings pleasant. A thick and greasy rain Razarak, into the skies, and flew to
were holding their own. Arkhan fell from the skies, its slimy waters join his might to Krell’s.

Chapter 2 | 85
As he travelled, Arkhan looked upon
the isthmus with distaste. Beneath
him, the battle had become a brawl,
a disorganised mess that was deeply
offensive to the Liche King’s mind.
Clusters of plaguebearers had forced
their way amongst the Doomed
Legion’s line, spoiling the careful
order of battle that Arkhan had
decreed. To the west, the Doomed
Legion’s knights were bogged down
amidst a seething swarm of nurglings.
For every one of the mites that was
slain, another half-dozen came
chortling and giggling to the fight. It
took six or seven nurglings to pull a
wight from his steed, and cost the
lives of as many diminutive daemons
in the attempt, but the nurglings never
grew bored with the game. To the
east, plague drones harried the right
flank of Krell’s advance. The bloated
daemon-flies buzzed in close, darting
clear of the spear- and sword-thrusts
aimed their way. Then, snatching
up victims, they climbed cloudward,
before hurling the corpses into the
Lake of Death’s ethereal waters.

Thus had Krell’s advance left a trailing

mangle of broken skeletal remains.
Arkhan drew from the Lake of Death
to restore these scattered bones,
forming them into disjointed and
ragtag regiments that could follow in
Krell’s wake. The liche was disgusted
to find himself adding to the battle’s
disorder, but hated the possibility
of failure even more. Even as that
unwelcome thought threatened to
smother Arkhan’s mind, a cloud of
furies and plague drones gathered
in the skies before him. The Liche
King did not so much as hesitate. The
thought of Nagash’s displeasure was
a painful spur, and it drove Arkhan
onwards into the screeching, buzzing
swarm, bolts of amethyst fire blazing
from his staff.

Far below, Krell at last drew nigh to

his target. The plaguebearers that
had stood in his path were now
churned offal, their ichor wet upon
his axe. Scrofulox was now all that
lay between the wight and Isabella,
but the sight of the daemon’s looming This time, however, the Black Axe step was but a stagger, and the Great
bulk gave him not so much as a caught fast in Scrofulox’s sucking Unclean One had little difficulty in
moment’s pause. flesh. No matter how the wight king seizing the wight’s decaying bones.
hauled upon the weapon’s grips, he Hauling Krell up high by his shins, the
The skulls that tipped the Great could not tug it free. Then, the greater daemon regarded him for a moment,
Unclean One’s flail cackled as they daemon lashed out with a meaty fist, watching as Nurgle’s tiny children
hurtled through the air. The blow was and Krell was sent sprawling away, feasted. Then, with booming laughter
aimed to take Krell’s own weathered his axe still embedded in the other’s swiftly muffled, Scrofulox lowered
skull. However, the wight had body. Isabella, watching the duel from Krell’s disintegrating corpse into his
expected the strike, and raised his behind Scrofulox’s corpulent bulk, rotten-toothed mouth, and swallowed
own weapon to meet it. A dull chime clapped once and laughed at Krell’s the Mortarch of Despair whole.
sounded as the Black Axe’s blade bit predicament, her amusement only Plaguebearers shuffled over the ruin
deep into the flail’s corroded chain, growing as the wight’s witchfires of the Doomed Legion, Isabella’s shrill
severing the links and sending the blazed with anger. laughter echoing about them.
skulls spinning away into the Doomed
Legion’s ranks. But Scrofulox had Once again, the Doomed Legion It was then that Arkhan struck. The
not placed his faith in the flail alone. pressed forward to Krell’s side, Mortarch of Sacrament plunged from
Scarcely had the chains split when this time keeping Scrofulox at bay the skies, tatter-winged morghasts
the daemon’s massive plaguesword with their press of blades. Isabella, in his wake. The surviving plague
slammed into Krell’s exposed left side, however, was no longer prepared drones streamed after them, the air
buckling armour plates and smashing to stand idly by. Stepping briskly abuzz with their resentment, but the
three ribs to powder. forward she ripped her chalice’s daemons were too slow. Morghasts
lid clear and held the golden vessel swept over the plaguebearers, spirit-
Krell staggered into a tallyband of aloft. At once, the vile fluid within blades raking the tallybands from
plaguebearers, his splintered bones began to bubble and churn, birthing above. Morghast archai converged on
grinding against the inner face of his a thick, dense spore-cloud whose Scrofulox who, still heavy with a meal
armour. Their plagueswords thrust greenish folds gusted away south that was sitting ill upon him, strove
and cut at the wight’s armour as across the Doomed Legion. Where in vain to swat them from the skies.
the daemons sought a weakness the spores settled, armour and bone As for Arkhan, he came straight for
perhaps exposed by Scrofulox’s crumbled away, consumed by the Isabella, plunging out of the skies like
strike. Before they could find one, the hungry bacteria within the cloud. In a an amethyst comet.
Doomed Legion pressed in behind matter of moments, the front rank of
their lord, driving back the daemons the Doomed Legion was naught but Caught by surprise, Isabella threw
long enough for Krell to regain his liquefying spoil, and still the spores up her arms, instinctively shielding
balance. Scrofulox was close behind, swept southwards, bringing the same herself from Arkhan’s attack, but the
surprisingly quick and already fate to the skeletons marching behind. flames came on all the same. Her
swinging his sword to finish the flesh and hair caught light, burning
impertinent wight king. and blackening as the fires took hold.
Laughter turned to screams, charred
This time, Krell made no attempt flesh flaked away on the wind, and at
to block the Great Unclean One’s last Isabella uttered the counterspell.
strike. He simply ducked beneath the At once, the fires died, snuffed out
ponderous blade’s arc, then rose up, like a candle at curfew, leaving the
axe swinging underarm up towards countess a twisted char of flesh that,
the daemon’s belly. Scrofulox was in places, still glowed an angry red.
heavier on his feet than the wight, and Yet still Isabella stood, golden chalice
had no chance to get clear. The ebony Protected as he was by stronger glinting in an ash-black hand, sunken
blade cut deep into the blistered and magics, Krell endured the spores, eyes peering hatefully out as the Liche
shard-flecked folds of the daemon’s but even he did not emerge from the King alighted before her.
gut, spilling forth diseased organs and cloud unharmed. His armour was left
a terrible stench. Scrofulox roared, little more than a rusted mass, and Arkhan saw little challenge in the
more in humiliation than pain, and his entire right side was pitted and grotesque ash-thing that stood before
lashed out a second time. Again, Krell slicked with seeping green fluid. Still him. The same fires that had ravaged
gave ground before the clumsy swing, the wight did not yield, and lurched Isabella had also repaired his own
and buried a second strike in the towards where his axe was still buried small wounds, draining her essence to
daemon’s gut. in Scrofulox’s gut. Alas for Krell, each strengthen his own.

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 Still, he was cautious. Rashness was It was then that Isabella shifted Where Nagash travelled, amethyst
no more in Arkhan’s nature than tactics. Though she had made no sparks flared across the rock,
was compassion, and the Liche King attempt to wield them, she had not ushering his fallen minions to new
took care to protect himself before forgotten the magics of her former life and new purpose. A tallyband
approaching further. The stones of the life. Now, with Arkhan’s concentration of plague drones, however, were the
Black Pyramid were bound together solely fixed on the curse, she called first to recover, and buzzed furiously
with fragments of tortured souls as forth the same soul-fire with which to confront Nagash. They didn’t even
much as mortar, and the Liche King the liche had assailed her, and make it to within a blade’s length.
now wrenched many of them free, focussed it upon her foe. The Great Necromancer’s eyes blazed
forging himself a shield of spirits as brilliant green, and withering bolts
he bore down upon his foe. The flames in Isabella’s flesh flowed burst forth, reducing the daemons to
down her arms and into the liche, dust. Other plaguebearers followed
Even now, Isabella was faster than extinguishing the witch fires in his their fellows’ example, and they
she appeared. As the armies battled skull and setting his heavy robes suffered the same fate. All who fell
all around her, the countess let go alight. At the same time, the countess’ beneath the wrathful shadow had the
her chalice and sprang at Arkhan. own blackened skin healed, restored fury of Nagash’s magic loosed against
Fragments of her blackened flesh fell to its alabaster sheen as the soul-fire them. Swirling vortices swept across
away as she moved, but these were scorched Arkhan from inside to out. the isthmus, leaving crystal statues in
paid no heed. All that concerned Isabella held on a moment longer, their wake. Amethyst fire and writhing
Isabella was that her cursed touch laughter again rising from her throat. tendrils of violet energy swept the
should fall upon Arkhan. She was Then she leaned down through the causeway, burning daemons to ash, or
bitterly close to failure, and dared flames, kissed the brow of the liche’s crushing them to pulp.
not pay the price that would follow. naked skull, and vaulted away.
On she forged, ignoring the pain So it was that before the Great
of her wounds, leaping high above Necromancer had passed halfway
Razarak’s head. She landed heavily, along the isthmus, most of the
both feet balanced precariously upon surviving daemons had chosen
the dread abyssal’s spine. Arkhan’s to continue the battle against
sword swept out, was struck from his his minions, cleaving true to the
hand by the countess’ slender blade, underling’s time-honoured belief that
and then Isabella was grasping at the some burdens were the responsibility
Liche King’s throat with her free hand. of generals and gods, not mere foot
soldiers. Thus, with the obstacles
Arkhan felt his shield-spirits Arkhan remained in Razarak’s saddle blasted or withdrawn from his path,
screaming pitifully as Isabella’s curse for a moment longer, searching the Great Necromancer soon towered
consumed them. He cared not for desperately for a way to consolidate over the upstart countess who had
their demise, of course, save for the his waning power, but he was too forced him to abandon his slumbers.
unfortunate fact that it likely also weak. The Liche King’s blackened and
heralded his own. Again he sent his lifeless bones hit the ground only a Isabella stood in silence as Nagash
soul-fire washing across the countess’ heartbeat after Isabella. approached, her blade and chalice
body, and again she blazed like a once more ready in her hands.
torch. But Arkhan felt his soul shield ENOUGH! Razarak snarled and prowled about
giving way before Isabella’s curse, her, forbidden from attacking by
and was forced to throw his efforts The voice was dark and majestic, Nagash’s will. If the countess felt
into reinforcing it. Isabella sensed the every nightmare and horror infused any fear, she did not show it, but
liche’s flow of magics shift. Casting into one word. Nagash had at last stood proud and erect as the Great
aside her sword, she locked that come forth from the Black Pyramid, Necromancer drew near. Scrofulox,
hand alongside the other, tight about and the battlefield fell still. Even the already regretting the impulse
Arkhan’s throat. The curse tore at daemons were momentarily cowed as that had led him to swallow Krell,
the liche more ferociously than ever the looming shadow of black and bone lumbered swiftly enough out of
before. In his desperation, he reached emerged from the pyramid’s colossal Nagash’s path. His orders had been to
out to the magics sustaining his army, gateway and swept down the isthmus. see Isabella safe until the self-styled
sapping the morghasts’ energies in The Great Necromancer’s progress God of the Dead arose. His duty
order to stave off oblivion. The liche was slow – almost serene – but utterly was done, and he had no desire to
felt the curse’s grasp fade, driven back implacable, and as inevitable as night perish in the countess’ stead now that
by the magics he had stolen. following day. Nagash had arisen.

88 | Chapter 2
‘U PSTART VAMPIRE, DISTAFF OF A
DIMINISHING LINE.’
The voice was the finality of death given form, the
‘YOU HAVE PIERCED MY REALM UNINVITED,
DESTROYED MY SERVANTS. WHAT IS THAT, IF
NOT A CHALLENGE?’
slam of a tomb lid in the cold and empty dark. Isabella lowered her eyes. He should have destroyed
‘I LOOKED LONG FOR YOUR SPIRIT AMONGST her already, she knew that, but deep in Nagash’s soul lay
THE DEAD, AND I AT LAST UNDERSTAND a loathing of unanswered puzzles. Isabella presented a
WHY I MET WITHOUT SUCCESS. DO YOU conundrum, and the Great Necromancer had been unable
FORSAKE YOUR HERITAGE SO EASILY THAT to resist seeking its answer before destroying her.
YOU SEEK TO PIT YOUR BORROWED MIGHT Isabella felt a strange gratitude. Humbling Mannfred
AGAINST MY OWN?’ had been a delight, destroying Vlad had been a
Isabella felt her posture slip as momentary fear bittersweet repayment of a life stolen away. But this?
overtook her. Nagash was correct. Her curse could not This moment had a flavour all of its own, and she was
unmake so mighty a being, and her magics were but giddy with the joy of it.
trickeries compared to his ancient and evil knowledge. ‘A distraction,’ she whispered, with a sharp smile.
With an effort, she regained her composure, trying to As if on cue, the first muffled explosion sounded away
ignore the chastisement of the daemon in her blood. to the south. Isabella looked up to see a handful of
‘No, mighty Nagash,’ she said, trying in vain to monolithic black stones crack away from the pyramid’s
make eye contact with the wrathful shadow. ‘You flank and slide into the Lake of Death.
misunderstand my intentions. I make no challenge.’ Nagash uttered a thunderous roar of anger, and
Isabella knew that no matter what followed, she had
already won.

Chapter 2 | 89
 By chance more than design, Ikit Nagash might have been absent, sufficient force would bring down the
Claw’s drilling teams had breached venting his unbridled fury upon entire structure. At Varisoth’s urging,
the foundations of the Black Pyramid the daemonic host, but the Black newly awakened ushabti lurched
in the moment that Arkhan’s charred Pyramid was still far from unguarded. down from their plinths with no
bones struck the ground. The chief Spirit-bound statues were scattered other sound save a creak of ancient
warlock had driven his skaven bloody throughout the tomb, not sentient stone, easily lost beneath hundreds of
for the last hours of the approach, enough to act upon their own scurrying footfalls.
increasingly aware that he was some cognisance, but sufficiently aware of
way past the agreed time of arrival. the mortal realm that others could Claw was overseeing the placement
Claw had already been preparing use their eyes to witness who came of the first warpbomb when a chorus
his excuses for failure when the first and went. In the long months of of terrified squeals cut through the
warpstone-tipped drill burrowed into Nagash’s repose, this duty had fallen air. Turning, he saw a tidal wave
the Black Pyramid’s underbelly. to Varisoth the Keeper, a Sylvanian of panicked clanrats stampeding
necromancer whose loyalty and utter towards him. Behind them came
The clanrats had not waited for lack of ambition perfectly suited expressionless ushabti, their great
Claw’s orders, but had surged past Nagash’s needs. golden blades rising and falling
the sweating drilling team and into murderously with every step. Already
the gloom beyond. All were glad to the living statues were spattered with
escape the treacherous confines of an skaven blood.
increasingly unstable tunnel network,
though they would have undoubtedly Bracing himself against the tide of
been less eager had they known fleeing underlings, Claw levelled
what awaited them within. Claw had Storm Daemon and sent a bolt of
shared the particulars of the mission warp lightning into the advancing
with no one, and with good reason. war-constructs. It struck one of the
Few skaven were cast in a heroic Varisoth had not slept in all the statues dead-centre with a deafening
mould, and delving into the Great months of his watch, for Nagash had report, blasting a hole clear through
Necromancer’s sanctum required seen to it that such mortal needs its chest and sending gilded rubble
heroes – or, at the least, ample were beyond him. Now, gazing flying in all directions. Again, Claw
promise of reward. through an ushabti’s eyes, he caught smote the ushabti, and this time other
sight of the skaven. Varisoth was fire joined his own. The sharp crack
Ikit Claw was neither ignorant, nor a unburdened by pride, and had no and whine of jezzails echoed around
hero, so it was with great relief that hesitation in casting his mind upon the chamber. Claw saw one ushabti
he discovered Nagash had departed. the winds of magic so that he might collapse as a heavy bullet smashed its
It had always been the plan for the alert his master. However, so deep right leg.
tunnelling party to arrive only after and abiding was Nagash’s rage that
the Great Necromancer had been Varisoth could sense that his voice Warp lightning sizzled as Claw’s
drawn into the battle, and it had had gone unheard. Rising to his feet, apprentices joined the battle, then fell
worked. Claw contemplated how the necromancer muttered the seven silent as the chief warlock’s metallic
his delays might even have ended harsh words of awakening. Long- snarls bade them continue fusing the
up being crucial to the timing, but dead spirits burst from the chamber’s bombs. By the time Claw returned his
then he remembered that Nagash walls, writhing and swirling about attention to the battle, the ushabti
would likely dispose of the Army Varisoth’s throne, lifting it from the had been smashed apart, but the echo
of Blight before long. Success was gilt-edged flagstones and bearing of heavy feet upon stone told the
success, but that outcome was still it away towards the intruders. The warlock that the fighting wasn’t yet
in doubt. Claw had six warpbombs necromancer’s mind was already over. Confirmation swiftly followed.
at his disposal – twice as many as far afield, rousing the pyramid’s A burst of warpflame, brilliant green
he thought necessary to bring down guardians from their slumbers. in the darkness, showed enemies
the Black Pyramid – but no amount of converging from all sides. Tomb guard
redundancy would matter if he was The attack came just as the first were emerging from alcoves and
slain before they could be placed, and warpbomb was placed, in a wide, cross-corridors around the chamber’s
the time-delay fuses set to allow the galleried chamber directly below perimeter. Whirling clouds of spirits
army’s escape. Rasping orders, Claw Nagash’s sanctum of repose. In spiralled in from openings let into
returned some semblance of order Claw’s triple-checked calculations, the chamber’s roof. Other ushabti,
to his tunnelling party, and headed this was the structural heart of the summoned from elsewhere in the
deeper into the tombs. Black Pyramid – here, a detonation of pyramid, converged remorselessly.

90 | Chapter 2
Claw was torn. He didn’t trust his The jezzails continued their punishing Ikit Claw saw all this, saw the black
engineers to fuse the warpbombs volleys, pounding shot after shot skull held high by the scarecrow
correctly, but then nor could he rely into the ushabti. The duel was not necromancer. Warp lightning arced
on his clanrats to fight the undead all in the skaven’s favour, however. out from Storm Daemon, punching
without his leadership. Reluctantly, A handful of the constructs had through the roiling spirit cloud at the
he left his engineers to their work bows, which they shot without mortis engine’s base, and making the
and squealed orders at the wavering breaking step. Arrows the size of throne heave with sudden instability.
clanrats. Those that had fled the saplings hissed across the chamber, Atop the throne, Varisoth staggered,
first attack were long gone, scurried smashing aside jezzail pavises and slipped and finally fell into the
away into the shadows, striking skewering both shieldrat and gunner reliquary’s iron railings, nearly losing
for the entrance tunnel. However, with the same shaft. But it was in the his grip on the black skull as he did
victory over the ushabti had helped grind of shield upon shield, where so. Still the pale magic blazed and
others find their courage, and their clanrat strove with skeletal guard writhed, sucking the life from nearby
resolve grew firmer when a burst of that the skaven made their superior skaven and strengthening the dead
warpflame fell plumb-centre in an numbers count. Blind to all but the warriors they fought. Not even the
approaching tomb guard cohort. So foe immediately before them, given ratmen’s battle-madness could blind
loud were the discordant cheers that courage by the sickly bursts of them to this threat. In ones and twos,
no one paid any heed to the fate of light that told of weapon teams still but soon by the dozen, the clanrats
the warpfire thrower team. Their firing, the clanrats thrust and bit and broke from the fight.
weapon’s feed-lines had split, and gnawed at their foe, almost berserk in
the leaking fuel quickly caught light, their determination. Realising that the situation could only
dooming the pair to a fiery death. be rescued if the necromancer were
slain, Ikit Claw readied another bolt
Capitalising on his warriors’ rising from Storm Daemon. Before he could
morale, Claw hurled them forward. release it, however, a guilty screech
Time was needed, time for the of alarm made him turn. An engineer
warpbombs to be fused, and clanrats was holding one of the warpbombs,
were easily replaced. Chief warlocks, arms clasped tight around it in an
however, were another matter, and attempt to conceal from the chief
Claw was careful to remain at the rear warlock the green glow pulsing
with the weapon teams, the better to through the bomb casing.
supervise and make a swift retreat if
circumstances required it. Smothering his frustration, Claw
made a tally of the fused bombs. Two
The battle’s pace quickened as more had been readied – two, plus the one
of the pyramid’s guardians joined the cradled in his foolish apprentice’s
fight. Spirits ebbed and swirled across arms. Perhaps sympathetic explosions
the chamber, chill fingers reaching would do the rest. In any case, there
through flesh and bone to squeeze the Varisoth had waited in the shadows was nothing to be done. Claw knew
life from fearful hearts. One clawband, whilst the battle raged, allowing the that the pulsing sphere’s detonation
realising that their weapons were unholy relic upon his throne to feast could not be arrested, that he could
useless against their ethereal foes, upon the death and destruction. either abandon his army with the
lost all heart. Screeching in maddened Now, as the mortis engine glided Black Pyramid and hope for success,
panic, they streamed away from forward, the necromancer cracked or perish in that chamber. The chief
the fight, the spirits hungrily close the reliquary seals, and reverently warlock didn’t hesitate. Spooling up
behind. Ikit Claw saw the rout begin, lifted the blackened skull high. At his warp compensators, Ikit Claw
and ordered his remaining warpfire once, pale spectral energy blazed rasped a series of arcane syllables.
throwers to fire along the path of from the skull’s eye sockets, crazed There was a puff of greasy green-
retreat. Desperate squeals turned streamers of death magic that sought tinged smoke and a sudden stench
more raw, more frantic as the green living essence. Where they struck, of rot. When they cleared, the chief
flames overtook the fleeing skaven, but clanrats fell dead, their lives instantly warlock had gone, abandoning the
Claw didn’t care. All that mattered to extinguished. Worse for the ratmen, rest of his army to their fate.
him was that the pursuing spirit hosts the magic empowered the skeletal
had been caught in the same torrent, guardians, reknitting broken bones A moment later, the pulsing
consumed by the same magical fire as and driving them into the fight with warpbomb detonated, and searing
those they had set to rout. renewed vigour. light swept the chamber.

Chapter 2 | 91
92 | Chapter 2
Chapter 2 | 93
 The Black Pyramid was older than themselves, or toppling outward into he could no longer draw upon the
any of the Old World’s civilisations, the lake’s amethyst waters. It would vast reservoir of power that he had
and it did not lightly yield its grip on take nearly an hour for the last of the jealously hoarded and grounded in
existence, but yield it did all the same. rubble to finally settle. Sylvania’s bedrock in the wake of
his rebirth. Worse, in a moment of
In the first heartbeat after detonation, From the isthmus, Nagash watched fury, the Great Necromancer had just
brilliant green energy tore through the only constant in his long unlife expended much of what he had spent
its inner chambers, the fantastic disintegrate before his eyes, and went months absorbing. Nagash had known
temperatures causing the gold of the berserk. He rounded on Isabella, but the power of a god. Now he was
bas-reliefs first to run like water, then found her gone, fled in the moment of mortal once more, no more mighty
boil into a gilded steam. For those the pyramid’s conflagration. than any of the other Incarnates.
skaven who remained, death was
instantaneous, so swift that none Giving voice to a bellow of rage that All along the isthmus, skeletons and
amongst them even glimpsed their shook the distant mountains, Nagash wights stood motionless. Lacking
fate. For Varisoth and others amongst sent magic sweeping outward. There either a foe to fight, or any command
the temple guardians, salvation came was no shape to the spell he called from their master, they stared blankly
only from the reliquary’s black skull. down, no logic or goal. It was but across the ruin of their enemies,
Supercharged by the torrent of death a tidal wave of punishing force, his waiting patiently for a change in
unleashed by the bomb’s detonation, wrath given sorcerous form. The circumstance. The morghasts knelt
the skull’s power shielded those magic howled like a gale across before their creator, their tattered
undead clustered nearby, rebuffing the the isthmus, and where it touched, wings gathered tight.
storm of warpfire that raged about it. daemonic flesh withered to dust.
Scrofulox, too slow to escape as Nagash was still kneeling in the dust
In the second heartbeat, a wave of Isabella had, was torn apart by the when Mannfred and Neferata arrived
massive, concussive force ripped magic, leaving only dust and Krell’s at the isthmus. Nothing could have
through the ancient black stones. mangled remains behind. concealed the Black Pyramid’s demise,
Those closest to the detonation were and it had struck both vampires –
battered into inert dust. Others were Isabella, swift enough to escape almost in the same moment – that
flung outward by the blast, smashing Nagash’s sight, but an eternity too the Great Necromancer could well
through walls and ceilings that had slow to outpace his magic, was swept have been destroyed in the explosion,
barely survived the explosion’s onset. up by the torrent. The countess was leaving opportunity for another to
The Black Pyramid’s outer flanks hurled a full furlong, coming to a stop ascend in his stead. Thus had they left
shuddered beneath these hammer only when she struck the remains of the dying battle in other hands, and
blows, but they held. an old Ulrican shrine with a sickening flown south. Neither vampire dared
thud. Her flesh endured where the address Nagash, for fear of betraying
A third heartbeat heralded a second daemons’ had not, but as Isabella lay a disappointment so massive as to
detonation as the casings of the broken and tangled, she felt Bolorog deny concealment. Instead, they
unprimed warpbombs finally melted shriek in her mind. The daemon simply attended in silence.
under the onslaught. Chunks of within her blood was in agony, and
masonry the size of buildings howled through their link she shared every Nagash scarcely noticed their arrival,
loose from the pyramid’s outer slopes, moment of his terrible pain. so lost was he in contemplating
crashing down upon the isthmus, his sparse options. There was no
upon the Lake of Death – even The bow wave swept further east and calculating the enormity of the blow
as far away as the ruins of Castle west, rolling across the battlefields that Chaos had struck against him,
Drakenhof, those many leagues where Mannfred and Neferata fought, nor did he see how his original plan
distant. Fire blazed from balconies before continuing on, fading steadily was to be recovered. Years ago, when
and gateways, incinerating untold with every league travelled. It was Teclis had first sought him out in the
thousands of undead. Still shielded only then that exhaustion overtook void between life and death, seeking
by the black skull, Varisoth was Nagash. As the wave of magic faded to forge an alliance against the
propelled from the pyramid’s innards at last, he sank heavily onto his staff, growing power of Chaos, Nagash had
like a shot from cannon, slamming and realised his terrible mistake. refused. Nonetheless, he had seen in
into the Lake of Death’s rocky shores. With the Black Pyramid’s destruction, the mage’s plan something he could
Nagash’s tether to the Lake of Death use for his own schemes. Though it
In the fourth heartbeat, what was irrevocably destroyed. The Wind irked him, he had never considered
remained of the pyramid began to of Death was still his to command, making himself the master of death
collapse, the walls falling in upon was still anchored to him. However, magic, and had grudgingly accepted

94 | Chapter 2
that Teclis’ mind might almost be whatever Arkhan and Krell’s failures,
on par with his own. Yet subverting disloyalty was not amongst them.
Teclis’ plan, taking the power of death Striding to each in turn, Nagash
to drive his own ascension, had failed. touched the tip of his staff to their
remains, giving of his own essence in
Two possibilities now presented order to restore his servants.
themselves, both equally distasteful to
proud Nagash. One was to succumb Then the Great Necromancer made
to the Chaos Gods, to become their the long walk to the Black Pyramid’s
servant, as so many of his own shattered remains, raising up all those
vassals had done in recent years. The capable of holding a blade. Against
other was to stand with the living all odds, Varisoth was amongst
against the forces of Chaos – for the these, shielded by the Black Skull of
Great Necromancer to treat with Morghane and thrown clear by the
ephemeral mortals as if they were his explosion. The necromancer clearly
equals. It mattered not that he could believed he had been raised again
sense that other beings had been only to be struck down for his failure,
infused with magic’s raw essence just but Nagash had forgiven greater
as he had. Other beings – mortals failures that day.
especially – would always be inferior.
Soon after, the army of the dead was
Neither course held much attraction. on the march. Much to Mannfred’s
To take either was an admission of anger, Nagash had appointed Neferata
failure, to accede that Nagash was as ruler of the realm in his stead, had
not so mighty as he proclaimed. bidden her to hold Sylvania in his
Moreover, he suspected that Teclis absence. In many ways, the decision
had interfered with his chosen course was inevitable. There were now more
nearly as much as the Dark Gods had, Nehekharan nobles than vampires in
for that alone could explain how his Sylvania. Their customs were alien
meticulously planned resurrection to Mannfred, and revolt a certainty
had nearly ended in absolute disaster. if he tried to impose his will upon
them – even if it were Nagash’s by
Coming to a decision, the Great proxy. Nevertheless, Mannfred had to
Necromancer stood tall again. The struggle to quell his anger. He had no
skeletons and wights formed beneath doubt that it would be days before any
their banners once more as his will challenge to Nagash’s will would end
fell upon them. The morghasts rose, in aught save his own destruction.
weapons held in salute. Neferata at By contrast, Neferata was greatly
last knelt before her master. Mannfred pleased by the edict. She cared little
made no move to match the gesture, for ruling Sylvania – a fact she was
though he averted his eyes as certain to impress upon Mannfred
Nagash’s gaze swept over him. before his departure – but the Queen
of Mysteries rejoiced that her new
Turning away from his mostly position would place the hated
subservient Mortarchs, Nagash Khalida wholly within her power.
surveyed the remnants of battle. His
eyes rested a long time on Arkhan’s Yet more than the loss of Sylvania,
blackened bones. The liche could it was Nagash’s destination that
not be truly destroyed whilst his troubled Mannfred. Given the choice
master walked the mortal world – between an alliance with mortals, or
their fates were too closely bound with the servants of the Dark Gods,
for that. Certainly, Arkhan had failed the Great Necromancer had chosen
once again – neither he, nor Krell, the former. With each step, the army
deserved resurrection. On the other of the dead moved steadily westward,
hand, Nagash knew that he was about towards the realm of undeath’s
to enter into a den of enemies, and antithesis. Towards Athel Loren.
96 | Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Hope Reborn
Spring 2526 – Autumn 2528
 For a short span following spread further, in a self-perpetuating than the forest spirits, who plunged
Malekith’s crowning as loop of destruction. The areas of instantly into a slumber so deep that
the Eternity King, Athel Athel Loren most heavily suffused they would never again waken to the
Loren had known a with magic suffered the worst, and living world. Even Amadri Ironbark,
period of stability. With the refugees soon the paths of Fyr Darric and the spirit king of Arranoc, fell prey.
from Ulthuan and Naggaroth Argwylon were unsafe for even the
supplementing the wood elves’ own elves to travel. Stories abounded of Without Amadri’s leadership, and
warriors, the beastmen of Athel Loren dryads running with daemons, and of bereft of their forest spirit allies, the
had stood little chance. Warherds enraged treemen smashing apart the elves were able to mount but a token
had been slaughtered or driven out of hidden shrines. defence. The Summerstrand was once
most of the realm’s twelve kingdoms. the brightest and most beautiful of the
In their wake, the waystone-marked Fortunately for the elves, those woodland realms, but it soon became
boundaries were secured against forest spirits who kept their sanity a haunt of madness and horror, where
further intrusion from the wasteland still outnumbered those who had lithe daemonettes flitted from tree to
that had once been Bretonnia. been corrupted by Chaos. Durthu, tree, searching for fresh playthings
Thousands of lives were lost in the ever the stalwart of Athel Loren, to torment. Nonetheless, the elves
trying, and many ancient groves were remained rational, and laboured long of Arranoc refused to abandon their
left scorched and bare. Nonetheless, at Alarielle’s side, trying to undo home. They fought and died amidst
a victory of sorts had been achieved. the spreading corruption. Progress the frozen rivers and frost-wreathed
Most elves reckoned the cost worth was slow, and easily reversed. Athel glades, their arrows and spears
paying, and cast their eyes forward to Loren’s spirits were creatures of but pinpricks against the hide of an
a future of reclamation. magic, like – and yet unlike – the otherworldly leviathan.
daemonic servants of the Chaos
Yet amongst the triumphs, the wider Gods. That kinship alone should not Help came from other realms as the
war was being lost. The Weave – the have been enough to sway them to Summerstrand slipped deeper into
natural balance that the wood elves the Dark Gods’ cause, but the sad eternal winter. The elves of Atylwyth,
had laboured so long to protect – truth was that too many forest spirits whose groves were permanently
was shifting badly as Chaos grew resented the presence of the elves, locked in winter, were well-used to
dominant. This was not solely due to or longed to return to a simpler time, fighting beneath rime-clad boughs,
the travails facing Athel Loren. The though they remembered it but dimly. and their arrival served to slow the
Dark Gods’ triumphs affected the Slaaneshi advance. Yet Arranoc’s
Weave there more than in any other Malekith and Alarielle had always salvation came from what would have
land, but every assault they made known that the situation would once been considered an impossible
upon the natural order pushed the grow more dire – though they had source. Many of the exiled dark elves
world closer to its unmaking. shared the information with but few had made new homes in Atylwyth,
of their subjects. They were soon finding reminders of Naggaroth’s
Such a change would not happen proven correct. Even as Archaon bitter chill beneath its bare boughs. A
overnight. Indeed, without an travelled south to the Empire city of few dreadlords voluntarily mustered
explosion of Chaos energy not seen Middenheim, the forces of Chaos had their forces northwards, and more
since the fall of the Old Ones, it would revealed themselves to be quiescent, marched on Malekith’s order.
take centuries for the Weave to be rather than defeated. When they came
upset so gravely for the world to be forth a second time, they did so in Thus reinforced, the elves of Arranoc
torn apart. However, a tipping point numbers so vast as to defy belief. at last reclaimed their home, or
was approaching, a point of no return nearly so. Though the daemons
that would herald an inexorable slide The first blow fell in Arranoc, the were driven back into the Vaults of
into timeless and formless Chaos. glorious Summerstrand, where the Winter, the Summerstrand remained
Already its precursors could be felt. sun never went dark. Daemons spilled locked in ice. Worse, new gates to
forth from the Vaults of Winter, the Dreaming Wood – the Realm of
As the balance shifted, madness the cold of the accursed caverns Chaos – had burst open upon the
began to overtake Athel Loren itself. spreading before them. Glades and sites of the greatest battles. These
Ever more forest spirits were driven to fields that had never known aught needed guarding ever after, lest other
Coeddil’s cause, and an uprising that save the most glorious of summers daemons stray into Athel Loren from
had begun in Cythral spread across vanished beneath thick hoarfrost. the world beyond. Though it remained
the woodland realm. This stretched Those who survived the icy onset in elven hands, Arranoc was lost
the forest’s defenders all the more were numbed and disoriented by as surely as sunken Ulthuan, and a
gravely, allowing the corruption to the sudden change, none more so cursed land forevermore.

98 | Chapter 3
Arranoc was only the beginning. Coeddil and his cruel spirit army from
Scarcely after the Vaults of Winter their age-old prison. Lady Draya the
had been sealed once again, Nighthawk held them for a time, her
myriad new assaults were launched rangers reinforced by the aesanar of
against Athel Loren. In Anmyr, twice-broken Nagarythe. However,
the Witherhold, the Tree of Woe Coeddil’s followers were too many,
collapsed into rot. Morghur, accursed the treeman’s rage too unyielding.
Cyanathair of legend, was reborn The halls of Tyr Vanna and Tyr Edrell
from the stinking mulch, and rejoicing soon fell to the spirit army’s advance,
bray-cries thickened on the wind as and the Nighthawk’s army found
beastmen hurled themselves upon itself trapped against the bastion of
Anmyr’s borders. Lady Delynna of Cullodinen Edge. That battle left the
Anmyr was the first of hundreds to elves of Cythral scattered, and their
perish that day, her flesh mutating maid-queen dead amongst the ashes
into something unspeakable before of a burnt grove. That Coeddil did
her blade could end the threat. not push deeper into Athel Loren was
Morghur escaped in the anarchy thanks entirely to the leadership of
that followed, as elves set spear and Alith Anar. The Shadow King rallied
bow upon the twisted remains of the weary Cythrali and harried the
those kinsmen twisted by Morghur’s treeman’s host, blunting their every
touch. Other elves hurried to defend advance through stealth and guile.
the waystones upon the realm’s
boundaries. They were an age too In Torgovann, where blind Daith’s
late. By the time Lady Tevaril’s spear funeral pyre still raged, gates to the
slew the creature that had once been Dreaming Wood ran with blood,
Delynna, the waystones had been and baying daemon-hounds hunted
toppled, and the warherds were beneath starlight skies. As the blood
rampaging across the border. flowed, the gates grew wider, and
the daemons were so numerous that
there were scarcely enough arrows in
Torgovann to see them slain. Yet they
were held, barely, once again with the
assistance of asur and druchii blades.
Arranoc had endured only through
help from the other kingdoms. There In Wydrioth and Argwylon, in Fyr
would be no such aid for Anmyr, Darric and Talsyn, the tale was
for the other realms too were under the same, and Athel Loren rescued
assault. In the depths of the Vaults, from destruction by those its own
northlander sorcerers shackled the defenders had saved scant months
dead of ages to their will, and hurled before. Just as the forest itself had
them against the borders of Atylwyth, been preserved millennia earlier
Cavaroc and Modryn. Horsemasters by the arrival of the first elves, the
and hawklords met the dead upon newcomers ensured that it endured
Cavaroc’s wide plains, the thunder against the rising tide of Chaos.
of hooves echoing beneath skies
thick with arrows. Yet the dead of Yet it would have been a mistake
the mountains were a rich resource, to view the elves as a truly united
and the sorcerers who drove them on force, even then, for resentments
were always careful not to expose and hatreds of old could not fade
themselves to the keen eyes of in so short a span. Many a defeat
Modryn’s scouts. was visited upon Athel Loren’s
defenders through the refusal of asur
In the east, the briarmaven Drycha at to cooperate with druchii, or asrai to
last shattered the binding stones of place their trust in any save their own
the Wildwood, Cythral, after years of kin. Sadly, this was an example set
striving, loosing the corrupt treeman from the apex of the realm.
 It was a truth poorly hidden that the shadows, and often attacking a None of this went unnoticed by
there was little fondness between flank that their enemies had thought Lileath, Goddess of the Moon and
Malekith and Alarielle, and no secure. Wreaking destruction had last of the elven pantheon to remain
intimacy whatsoever. Theirs was a always been Malekith’s greatest in that age of the world. From the
marriage of state, forged to bring a talent – that it was now loosed in a very start, Lileath had not believed
divided people together. Trust – ever righteous cause did nothing to stifle that Chaos could be defeated. Where
an elusive commodity in those dark his joy. others sought to win the war at
days – existed but tenuously between hand, she had drawn her plans for
the king and queen. Malekith watched the future. She was little more than
ceaselessly for betrayal, the suspicion mortal now, her power almost spent
of the past a hard habit to break. For in the fashioning of a haven designed
her part, Alarielle remained always to allow her daughter to ride out the
alert to the possibility of her husband storm of Chaos. What little remained,
lapsing into familiar ways, of him she wielded to delay the inevitable
becoming anew the tyrant of old. The Alarielle was seldom more measured tipping of the Weave, for every
tragedy lay in the fact that neither had in her deeds. She was the Incarnate moment of delay would ensure that
any true grounds for their suspicion. of Life, and many of the elves – the Chaos Gods would be weaker in
It was pride, and history’s inexorable especially those high elves who whatever world came to pass.
weight, that drove Malekith and had not fought beside her during
Alarielle apart, and their distance was Ulthuan’s dying days – had assumed As yet, none of the elves had guessed
plain to far too many of their subjects. her transformation would render her at Lileath’s despair – they saw only
more akin to the spiritual Everqueens a goddess who fought at their side,
Nonetheless, the Eternity King and of old than the war-queen she had heedless of the cost to herself. The
his Everqueen fought readily in Athel so lately been. They could not have creation of the Incarnates had been
Loren’s defence. The forest was a been more wrong. They had forgot her idea, though brought to fruition
true home to neither, and had been that life was a force of destruction as by Teclis, and all believed that the
bequeathed to their rule by dying well as healing – especially in a land goddess could yet change their
gods, but they strove to prove worthy such as Athel Loren, where the trees fortunes. All, perhaps, save Malekith,
of it, all the same. themselves were willingly roused to who was little given to placing trust in
war. Indeed, in those early days no any other creature, be they mortal or
Malekith was ever at war, wielding the greater slaughter was wrought than goddess. Even Teclis, whose labours
shadow-power once held captive in at Tal Merion, where those beast-kin brought him secretly to Athel Loren
the Great Vortex. By his hand, armies whom Alarielle did not drown beneath shortly before Averheim’s fall, did not
traversed vast distances in an eye- the waters of the Grismerie she tore suspect Lileath’s deception, and still
blink, marching in the spaces between apart with writhing thorns. worked to complete her plan.

‘Y ou should rest.’
Teclis brought Malhandir to a halt, and tore his
attention from the overgrown path. As ever, he couldn’t
I – do, then all of this will have been for nothing.’
‘Haste will do no good at all if exhaustion leads you
down the wrong path,’ cautioned the lion-pelted shade.
be sure whether the shadowy figure had actually uttered ‘How long is it since you last slept?’ asked the
the words, or whether his mind was playing tricks. southern noble.
Perhaps he was going mad, he thought. ‘Too long,’ said the shadowy loremaster, not giving
Certainly, the casket’s four bearers were little more Teclis time to respond. ‘I thought I taught you better
than elementals, woven from strands of life, shadow and than that.’
memory. The casket’s front was carried by a rugged, ‘You did,’ said the final shade, the words spoken
lion-cloaked warrior, and a slender, more refined gruffly, ‘but he never listens. He does what he will, no
noble of the southern courts. The rear was borne by matter the cost to himself, or to others.’
elementals in the forms of a robed loremaster, and a tall, Those words were knives in Teclis’ soul, even though
eagle-helmed lord whose face lay ever in shadow. In he knew them to be but a reflection of his own thoughts.
theory, they had no will – and therefore no opinions – of It was too late to make amends for the decisions of
their own. In theory. the past. There was only the future, and the hope of
‘I cannot afford to rest,’ Teclis said. ‘Time is short salvation for all.
enough as it is. The forest is changing around us. If the ‘We continue,’ he said, urging Malhandir on once
corruption reaches Yn Edri Eternos before we – before again. ‘We have no other choice.’

100 | Chapter 3
Even with Lileath’s deceit concealed, so swept up in slaughter were the Mountains. Loosed from mortal form
it was not long before the elves too warriors of Har Ganeth that they did by the death of Ungrim Ironfist, it
began to experience severe division. not slow when their lines met those of sought another host, but could find
Hellebron, rescued by chance from Lord Arlas. Over half of the Modryn none to its liking. Many sorcerers
the ruin of Ulthuan, had become host was slain at Cerura Carn, a good sensed its power upon the breeze
the godhead of her murderous cult part of it by Hellebron’s followers. and sought to chain it, to imprison its
following Khaine’s destruction. essence within themselves, but Aqshy
She had fought as keenly as any Furious, Imrik petitioned Alarielle. was a primal force of magic, and even
in Athel Loren’s defence. Indeed, Soon after that, the two of them then the most powerful could not overcome
some said too keenly, for she gladly confronted Malekith in private, and its fiery independence. In the tunnels
expended the lives of her followers at last persuaded the Eternity King to beneath ruined Altdorf, Egrimm van
if their deaths would bring victory. check Hellebron’s power. Thus was Horstmann made endless sacrifices,
Hellebron’s were the bloodiest the Cult of the Blood Queen outlawed buttressing his own might with stolen
triumphs of those days, and it was not in Athel Loren. In a rare moment of souls, but still dominance over the
always the foe who paid the steepest reluctance, Malekith did not issue the Wind of Fire eluded him. No sooner
price for her success. Nonetheless, decree himself, but left the matter to had the sorcerer taken Aqshy into his
her cult had continued to grow, Alarielle. The Everqueen could not body than it burst free once more, the
drawing worshippers from all three divine the reason for her husband’s force of the separation burning his
elven races. reticence, but it mattered little. The body to a blackened and lifeless crisp.
Cult of the Blood Queen was outlawed Others tried and failed, with similarly
Many lords and ladies pleaded with at Alarielle’s order, and Hellebron was gruesome results, but still Aqshy
Malekith, begged him to rein in stripped of all duties and titles. blazed and wheeled in the sky, as it
Hellebron’s worst excesses, but the sought its destiny.
Eternity King judged her actions Humiliated and embittered, Hellebron
but one of many sane responses to fled with her followers to the Shrine As the elves battled for survival, two
surviving those insane times. If blood of Khaine on the Wydrioth–Talsyn armies marched on Athel Loren from
were the coin of Hellebron’s victories, border. From its tallest tower, she the east. The first was the Emperor’s
then Malekith was glad for her to stared westward across the burning motley assemblage of humans and
spend it as she wished. However, forest, and brooded upon her fate. dwarfs – the scant survivors of
not all were so sanguine. Alarielle, Averheim. They made painfully slow
in particular, was greatly worried by It was there that the daemon Be’lakor, progress through the mountains, for
the Crone Queen’s excesses, but her architect of the elves’ woes, found they were burdened by too many
authority alone was insufficient to Hellebron one moonless night, and wounded. That they could proceed
bring about censure. stole into her dreams like a thief. The at all was only thanks to Gotri
daemon sought to twist the unwitting Hammerson’s knowledge of the Grey
It was at the Battle of Cerura Carn Crone Queen to his purposes but, to Mountains, of hidden dwarf roads
that matters came to a head. There, his great consternation, Hellebron seldom seen by outsiders.
Imrik of Caledor, first of the asur recognised his nature from the first.
princes to support Malekith, did battle This hardly mattered, however, for Nevertheless, every day of the march
with a truly vast beastmen warherd. Hellebron considered herself too brought fresh challenges. Mindless
So great was the danger that even the many times betrayed. Her feet, then, undead clustered in those high
proud dragon prince was forced to were already set upon temptation’s places, their only motivation to slay
call for reinforcements. Lord Arlas of path. Nonetheless, Be’lakor took the living. Pockets of wild magic had
Modryn was first to answer the call, great enjoyment in sharing with the birthed daemons amongst the peaks,
his midnight-clad warriors falling Crone Queen what he claimed was a and chimerae were ever-ready to stir
hard upon the beastmen’s western vision of the future, in which Alarielle from their lairs. Worse, that stretch
flank whilst the iron-disciplined flung her bloodied corpse from atop a of the Grey Mountains was home to a
Caledorians held them in the centre. pinnacle of stone. Already receptive dozen orc and ogre tribes, and none
But Hellebron too had answered the to the daemon’s promises, Hellebron of them bore intrusion lightly. Some
call – though more out of desire for was swift to embrace the Dark Gods, of the dangers could be bypassed,
slaughter than to aid Imrik. in exchange for a promise of revenge but not all. Time and again, the loose
against those who had wronged her. column of men and dwarfs shook
The witch elves and executioners itself into a rally square as howling
assailed the warherd from behind, That same night, Aqshy, the Wind greenskins came charging down the
tearing the embattled beasts apart of Fire, swept masterless through slopes, or a chimera came roaring
in an orgy of blood and blades. But the skies far away across the Grey from its nest.

Chapter 3 | 101
There would likely have been no with little approval. To Jerrod, Athel
victories at all but for Gelt’s magic and Loren was a haunted and spiteful
dwarfen firepower, as the passes were place, its denizens responsible for
too confined for the knights. None the deaths of too many of his friends
felt this frustration more fully than and subjects. To Hammerson, it was
Duke Jerrod. He had now witnessed a wellspring of grudges, ranging
the destruction of two realms, and he from the time of Grungni Goldfinder
longed to steep his blade in righteous all the way up to the present day.
retribution. Instead, however, he had And for Gelt, whose life hereto had
to watch as the ignoble weapons of been grounded in the Empire’s great
the dwarfs wrought his salvation. metropolises, Athel Loren was a
realm of barbarians. Nonetheless, all
For their part, the Zhufbarak had allowed the Emperor’s will to guide
become more accepting of Gelt them, though they could not have
during the march. At first, they had explained why. Thus, battle by battle,
resented his magics no less than the the refugees of Averheim gradually
Bretonnians resented the dwarfs’ own drew closer to the woodland realm.
firearms. However, where Gelt walked, Behind them, growing closer every
runes flared into vigorous life – not day, came a far larger host. This too
just those whose power Hammerson had come from Averheim, but it was
knew well, but simple naming runes possessed of a far darker purpose
whose true power had long lain than the one that preceded it. If
forgotten. In Gelt’s presence, gromril the brass totems they bore had not
armour became hardier still, and betrayed their allegiance, the trail
weapons gained a killing edge that of carnage left behind surely would
no whetstone could replicate. As the have done so. Where the Emperor’s
days passed, ironbreakers whispered army had avoided all but inevitable
of the spirit of Grungni, and wondered confrontation, this army sought out
if his power had come to rest in the bloodshed, leaving shattered corpses
man who hid behind a mask of metal. and piled skulls in their wake to
These voices were never raised within attract Khorne’s favour.
earshot of a human, for the dwarfs
found it deeply discomfiting that one This Army of Skulls was led by a
of their ancestor gods might bless an dead man: Skarr Bloodwrath, slain
outsider so. by Duke Jerrod, but restored to life
by slaughter, as he had been so many
Gelt was wholly unaware of the times before. Skarr knew he had
consternation that he had provoked, failed his dark patron, and yearned
but then he was aware of little during to claim the skulls of those who had
that march. Gelt’s days were spent in escaped his wrath as penance. Skarr
battle, his nights in sombre meditation had long transcended the need for
as he attempted to understand the any sustenance save battle itself,
power that had become shackled and brooked no delay caused by the
within his bones. He was all too human frailties that still beset the
aware how easily curiosity had led Skaramor who followed him. Those
him astray in recent years, and he who could not keep to their warlord’s
was determined that he would not pace were abandoned on the trail,
make the same mistake again. their skulls oftentimes added to those
of their victims.
The Emperor was still bereft of magic,
stripped of Azyr’s might at Archaon’s As the Emperor’s army reached the
hand. Nevertheless, he did not shirk boundary of Wydrioth, the fabled Pine
from his duty in the line of battle. Crags of Athel Loren, the wind at last
Though Hammerson chose the route, shifted, carrying the berserk howls of
it was the Emperor who had set the skullreapers westward. At once,
the destination, even though it met weary men and dwarfs redoubled
their pace, preferring to make their too small to guarantee victory, at Thousands of skullreapers and
stand in the dubious safety of Athel least alone. Skarr presented another wrathmongers perished in the hours
Loren rather than in the daemon- problem. The Army of Skulls was that followed, but Skarr would not be
haunted mountains. within a day’s march of the forest slowed. Every axe-blow, every cloven
boundary, and their presence would treeman and beheaded elf, brought
Their intrusion was noted at once. surely draw the attention that Be’lakor him closer to his quarry – and
Swift Wydriothi scouts scattered sought to avoid. vengeance. Even now, he made better
unseen from the Emperor’s path, time than the Emperor’s army. The
carrying word to the king and queen Stepping through the shadows, dense forest impeded the humans and
of Athel Loren. Dryads shadowed Be’lakor flew to Skarr’s side. Utilising dwarfs as much as it did their Chaos-
their approach, glinting eyes alert every iota of guile, the daemon tried touched pursuers, and they dared not
for any misstep. Alarielle had long to convince the warlord to stay his offer violence or offence so freely as
expected that others of her fellow advance, not to breach Athel Loren’s did Skarr. Steadily, the Army of Skulls’
Incarnates would make their way to bounds before his own forces could bloodied vanguard drew closer.
Athel Loren. With Durthu’s aid, the converge, and thus guarantee a
Everqueen had impressed the need swift victory. Another northlander, At last, as the refugees made their
for restraint upon those forest spirits awed by the power and glory of the way through Esdari Corrin – the
who had not been lost to madness. First-damned, might have acceded Chasm of Echoes – Gelt came to a
Athel Loren, not ordinarily a realm to Be’lakor’s request, but not Skarr. decision. Turning Quicksilver back to
much given to friendliness, was quick His loyalty was given to Khorne, his face the oncoming host, he bade the
to welcome allies in those dark times. heart to slaughter and his mind to others continue, to seek help whilst
Nevertheless, had so much as a vengeance. Heedless of Be’lakor’s he kept the Skaramor at bay between
single bough been split for firewood, growing wrath, he refused the the steep-sided walls. All knew what
the dryads would have gladly torn daemon’s petition, instead driving his Gelt was offering – that the wizard
the newcomers limb from limb. army harder than ever before. intended to sacrifice himself to buy
Hammerson had learned the lesson the others time to escape. It was a
of Goldfinder’s doomed expedition logical and noble sentiment, but alas
where many of his kin had not, and one entirely wasted, for the Zhufbarak
forbade that any axe be set against refused to leave his side. Instead, they
living wood. Pleased and disappointed calmly took position where the pass
in equal measure, the dryads held was narrowest, and no entreaty on
their peace. the wizard’s part would move them.

But there was another who bore The Emperor and Duke Jerrod knew
witness to the Emperor’s arrival in that their column of exhausted knights
Athel Loren. Be’lakor disliked the turn would be of little use in that chasm
that events had taken. Gelt’s power and, following a brief farewell, rode
shone like a beacon to the daemon, hard. Despite Gelt’s parting wishes,
a brilliant gold light that could pierce Just as Be’lakor had predicted, Athel abandonment could not have been
the shadows of his very being. Loren went wild as soon as the further from their minds. At Jerrod’s
Moreover, Be’lakor could sense the Skaramor trod beneath its eaves. suggestion, the force was divided.
touch of Azyr in the Emperor’s mortal At once, the dryads who had been Each company took a different path,
flesh, and feared that these two could shadowing the Emperor peeled away the boldest and swiftest of their
tip the battle for Athel Loren if allowed eastward, and fell upon Khorne’s number riding ahead, braving the
to reach Malekith and Alarielle. devotees with all the shrill fury of forest’s dangers in their desperation
their kind. The sounds of battle rang to make contact with Athel Loren’s
Be’lakor knew that any battle would out across the glades, alerting elves hidden defenders.
likely bring the king or queen to Pine and spirits for leagues around. Glade
Crags all the sooner. Therefore, if lords marshalled their households, As the humans sought aid further
one was to be fought at all, victory slumbering dragons awoke to rage west, Skarr Bloodwrath reached the
would have to be guaranteed so that and treeman ancients roused entire Chasm of Echoes. At Hammerson’s
they would not find the allies they groves of forest spirits to war. Cursing order, thunderous volleys rippled
sought. Unfortunately for the daemon, Skarr’s stubbornness, Be’lakor across the boulders, shots screaming
Wydrioth had resisted his minions withdrew to his fastness in the ruins through the air and the first blood
with an efficiency seldom matched. of Tal Esth, and began to draw his shining red beneath the forest canopy.
What armies Be’lakor had there were plans anew. The Battle of the Chasm had begun.

Chapter 3 | 103
 THE THRONG OF METAL
Hardier than the humans they had escorted from the ashes of the Empire, the Zhufbarak were raring for a fight.
They had lost many good comrades during the fall of Averheim, and looked forward to repaying those losses in
kind. If this were to be their last battle, the dwarfs of Zhufbar would meet it with steel.

BALTHASAR GELT, INCARNATE OF METAL

Gelt’s transformation into the Incarnate of Metal had brought with it a certain
clarity of purpose. Gone were the doubts that had pursued him of late, and the
emptiness of spirit that had formed his earliest rememberings was vanished
also. For the first time, the knowledge of magic that Gelt had always sought
was ready at his fingertips, his for the calling. More than any in the Chasm of
Echoes, Gelt had a sense of unfolding destiny, of a future awaiting fulfilment. It
was that same feeling which had driven him to hold back the Skaramor, and it
too that assured him that he would not meet his end that day.

GOTRI HAMMERSON
Gotri Hammerson had always sworn to avoid Athel Loren and its treacherous
inhabitants, so it still boggled him to be fighting a battle inside its borders.
Then again, his younger self would never have believed that he would one day
go into a hopeless battle for a human’s sake, and for a human wizard, at that.
Nonetheless, it was plain to Hammerson’s sight that Gelt’s power did not derive
purely from gold magic. The blessing of Grungni – perhaps even the spirit of
Grungni – was with him, for what other explanation could there have been for
the runes sparking to life in his presence?

THE HOLZENGARD
Of Zhufbar’s many hammer-throngs, only the Holzengard
remained. A cave-in had trapped them in the Underway
early on in Zhufbar’s siege. The sound of hammer upon
stone had echoed ferociously as the Holzengard sought
to escape their tomb, each blow driven home harder as
the death-screams of family and comrades echoed down
from the fortress above. Ultimately, the Holzengard
escaped only to find their king slain and the hold all but
lost. Denied an honourable death at their king’s side, they
swore to fight without fear alongside the other Zhufbarak
who remained.

THE ZHUFBAR FIREBORES

Few of the Zhufbar Firebores had ever travelled further from
their hold. Like Hammerson, they had always regarded Athel
Loren as a semi-mythical place, and found it little to their
liking. Nevertheless, they had chosen to make their stand,
and were determined not to shame their ancestors over
such trivial things as the lack of a proper ceiling overhead.
Whatever complaints the Firebores might have levelled about
the situation, paucity of ammunition was not amongst them.
Every dwarf still carried upwards of two hundreds rounds
each, and was determined to make every shot count.

104 | Chapter 3
 Balthasar Gelt,
Incarnate of Metal

Gotri Hammerson
Runelord

The Zhufbar Firebores

Three throngs of Thunderers,
one of Dwarf Warriors,
two batteries of Cannons and
one of Organ Guns

The Ironclads
One throng of Ironbreakers,
one throng of Irondrakes

THE IRONCLADS The Holzengard

Few of the Ironclads were talkative fellows, preferring to watch and listen while One throng of Hammerers
more garrulous dwarfs filled the silence with speech or song. Their deeds had
always spoken more loudly than their tongues, and this was doubly true at the The Blackwater Squadron
One squadron of Gyrocopters
Chasm of Echoes. It had been the Ironclads who had first formed up at Gelt’s
side, the runes on their armour glowing with golden light. There they stood,
waiting wordlessly for the battle to come, seemingly unconcerned whether any
of their fellows would join their shield wall.

THE BLACKWATER SQUADRON

Not all gyrocopter pilots would have relished a battle beneath a forest canopy.
However, the Blackwaters met it more with relief than with any other emotion.
The preceding days had been vastly frustrating for them, with much of their
mountain-crossing beset by howling daemonic winds that had made flying
impossible on most days. Hammerson had given serious consideration to
abandoning the flying machines. Only the pilots’ point-blank assertions that
they would travel only where their beloved gyrocopters went had stayed the
runesmith’s command.

Chapter 3 | 105
 THE ARMY OF SKULLS
Be’lakor’s attempt to slow Skarr’s march had only made the Skaramor warlord all the more determined to
press on. He was undaunted by the losses that the forest spirits had inflicted upon his army, for he could smell
his quarry’s desperation upon the wind. Victory in the Chasm of Echoes would reaffirm Skarr’s standing in
Khorne’s eyes, of that he was sure.

SKARR BLOODWRATH
Such was the slaughter at Averheim that Skarr was reborn at the height of
his powers. However, as with every resurrection before it, he returned to
the living world slightly less a man, and slight more a ravening beast. What
little strategic acumen Skarr had once possessed was long gone by this time,
drowned beneath an echo of his master’s bloodlust. Skarr dimly recognised
this, was aware that he was somehow diminished from how he had once been.
Nevertheless, he had no regrets, and rejoiced in the heightened strength that
his revivification had brought.

THE SONS OF KARAMOX

The Sons of Karamox had suffered horrendous losses during the siege of
Averheim, but believed that the blood they had shed and spilt had only drawn
them closer to Khorne’s favour. They marked in blood each step across the
Grey Mountains, culling the weak from their own ranks – and those of rival
warbands – if no foes presented themselves by nightfall. By the time the Sons
of Karamox reached Esdari Corrin, their numbers were roughly a tenth lower
than at the start of the march, and several smaller warbands within the Army of
Skulls had vanished entirely.

THE GORECHAINED
From scars, brotherhood; from brotherhood, glory: that was the
Gorechained’s motto. Each member of the warband bore a scar for
each of their victims. Not the warriors’ personal conquests, but
those of the entire warband. From the very first, the Gorechained
deemed that a greater tally of skulls could be claimed for their
brooding master if their efforts were not wasted in competition with
one another. It was an ethos derided by many other northlanders,
though not by those who knew the significance of the crusted
blood-whorls that covered every inch of each Gorechained’s skin.

THE BLOODSHIELDS
The Bloodshields had little loyalty to Skarr Bloodwrath. They had
been drawn to his side following the siege of Averheim, recognising
him as a champion truly touched by their lord’s madness. The
Bloodshields sought not to serve Skarr, but recognised that Khorne’s
gaze often followed where he trod. Thus, they feigned subservience,
trusting that Skarr would draw the Lord of Skulls’ favour upon them
all before he inevitably perished. If this failed, the Bloodshields stood
ready to kill Skarr themselves, and present the champion’s skull as
an offering to Khorne.

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 Skarr Bloodwrath

The Sons of Karamox

Three warbands of Skullreapers

The Gorechained
Two warbands of Skullreapers,
one warband of Chaos Warriors

The Red Tide

Three warbands of Skullreapers

The Axes of Erakan

Two warbands of Skullreapers

The Bloodshields
Two warbands of Chaos Warriors,
one warband of Chosen

THE CRIMSON RAMPAGE The Crimson Rampage

Another band of warriors who pledged themselves to Skarr after Averheim, the Three warbands of Skullcrushers
Crimson Rampage gave no explanation for their arrival, and indeed were not
heard to utter so much as a word during the pursuit. By the time the Army of The Hounds of Herumar
Skulls had begun its descent into Athel Loren, many of its chieftains had come One Chaos Lord on daemonic steed,
to suspect that there was no flesh within the Crimson Rampage armour at all, five packs of Chaos Warhounds
just a daemonic essence that lent the metal shape and form. Most gave the
warband a wide birth after that. The Wrathkin
One vast warband of Wrathmongers

The Worldreavers
One warband of Chaos Marauders,
one warband of Marauder Horsemen

THE HOUNDS OF HERUMAR

Herumar was a houndmaster of great renown in the northern wastes. He often
claimed that his beasts were as much daemon-spawn as mortal hound, and
those who saw the slavering brutes in battle seldom had reason to question
that assertion. Herumar was always ready to sell warhounds to those who had
the coin or plunder to pay, but had no truck with those who sought to steal his
wares. More than one chieftain ended his days as fodder in Herumar’s kennels,
his bones fashioned into crude armour for one of the pack leaders.

Chapter 3 | 107
 THE HOST OF FIRE
It was by the blindest chance that Jerrod discovered the aid he sought. Urging his steed down a path that
looked like any other, he found himself upon the hidden road to Ystin Asuryan. He nearly perished in that
moment, for the elves did not lightly forgive intrusion into their holiest of places.

CARADRYAN
Many elves had wanted to punish Jerrod’s trespass with death, but they had
swiftly subsided at Caradryan’s wordless decree. All knew that the gaunt
captain had been the Creator’s truest servant in recent years, and his will was
seldom defied. They might have been less ready to yield had they known how
uncertain Caradryan was of the future before him. For long decades, he had
been guided by the word of Asuryan, as laid down on the wall of fire. Now,
both Asuryan and the wall were gone, and the captain was blind to the future
for the first time.

VARANDI AND VALANAR, THE BROTHERS OF FIRE

It was rare for two siblings to enter the service of Asuryan – rarer still for
twins to do so. Varandi and Valanar had served in the Phoenix Shrine since
before Caradryan’s time, each reaching the rank of anointed before their two-
hundredth year. By the time of the evacuation to Athel Loren, the brothers
were all of their family that remained – the rest had been slain during Tyrion’s
rampage through Saphery. From the moment of their induction into the Phoenix
Guard, Varandi and Valanar knew what their family’s fate was to be, and that
burden hung heavy with them, even long after Ulthuan had vanished beneath
the waves.

THE EATAINE GUARD

Of the Eataine Guard’s thirty proud legions, only one remained by this time,
and that had been bloodied and battered by war. Under the command of Prince
Yvarn, it had fought on the front line of Eagle Gate, had witnessed first-hand
the onslaught that had laid the fortress low. Like many exiles of that kingdom,
the Eataine Guard had pledged themselves to Caradryan’s service in the wake
of Ulthuan’s destruction. They could not bear to serve beneath Malekith, or
even Imrik, both of whom they held accountable for the loss of so many of their
comrades – including Prince Yvarn.

THE FLAMEHEARTS
The Flamehearts were all that remained of Caradryan’s old legion, and had
shared his every battle since Malekith’s invasion of Ulthuan. Like their captain,
the Flamehearts fought on both sides in that war – though at different times –
fulfilling the role Asuryan had decreed for them. They had lost many fellows to
Khaine’s madness before the Destroyer had at last been defeated – had found
it necessary to end many of those lives themselves lest the madness spread.
Like Caradryan, the Flamehearts were now blind to the future but their faith, as
ever, remained with their captain.

108 | Chapter 3
 Caradryan

Varandri and Valanar

Two Anointed of Asuryan on
Flamespyre Phoenixes

Ainur Firemark
High Elf Dragon Mage on Sun Dragon

The Eataine Guard

One legion of High Elf Spearmen

The Flamehearts
One legion of Phoenix Guard

The Last Pride

One regiment of White Lions and
one White Lion Chariot
THE LAST PRIDE
Chrace was ravaged long before the war between Malekith and Tyrion, its The Crimson Draichs
forests set ablaze by daemons. The Last Pride was not a single regiment of One cult of Executioners
white lions, but a conglomeration of survivors from those times, axe-brothers
and lone hunters who had found new comrades with whom to face the The Shrine of
darkening days. In them, the fierce pride of Chrace lived anew, the traditions Sanguine Repentance
of ancient times upheld by strong arms and ready steel. And their axes seldom One Bloodwrack Shrine
rested, for there were always more foes who could only be vanquished by
Chracian might. The Guardians of the
Hidden Flame
One kinband of Deepwood Scouts

Aubruch Brackenarm
One Treeman

The Talsyn Hearthwardens

One kinband of Eternal Guard

THE CRIMSON DRAICHS

Har Ganeth had been a city of harsh rules and cruel justice, where existence
was defined by the law. Many of its elves had gone mad with excess once freed
from its strictures, but others had been lost without them. Such was the case
of the Crimson Draichs, a greatly denuded cult of executioners, fallen from
Hellebron’s favour. Unable to function without guidance, they embraced duty at
Ystin Asuryan. In the dangerous days since, there had been many opportunities
to put their fearsome draich-skills to work, and doubtless there would be many
more ahead.

Chapter 3 | 109
 BATTLE FOR THE CHASM
Few warlords would have wished high, whining far over Skarr’s head Bullets whined around Skarr as he
to attack the Zhufbarak position to impact with the mountainside. charged home. Most of the shots
in the Chasm of Echoes. The slope The second shot ploughed into the weren’t aimed for him, but rather at
was steep, thick with undergrowth skullreapers on Skarr’s left, taking the skullreapers thundering in his
and roots, split by shallow streams down a dozen blood-mad warriors in wake. The dwarfs of Zhufbar were
and jagged outcrops. The dwarfs a single smear. well-practised at this way of war, and
had spent their time well, and had Hammerson knew better to waste
entrenched themselves amongst the On the Skaramor charged, boots bullets on a single foe when hundreds
crags and boulders. Moreover, there thudding through briar and fern, more clustered close behind. Even
had been many dead trees on the careless of the uneven footing. The so, Skarr was struck many times, the
chasm floor, dry husks which dwarfen scent of blood – the blood of their heavy lead punching bloodily through
axes had refashioned into crude tribe – was thick in their nostrils, his flesh and bone. The champion
barricades. Live trees, as ever, had and the heady tang brought with it didn’t feel the wounds. He had been
been carefully left untouched, for the a divine battle rage. Ankles snapped slain so many times that pain no
Zhufbarak recognised that there was like broken boughs as warriors missed longer had any purchase upon him,
no sense inviting trouble from the their footing amidst the tangle, brief was naught but a spur to slaughter.
forest’s spirits. shouts of pain echoing up the chasm He gave his blood freely as an offering
walls. Still the Skaramor came on, to the Lord of Skulls, a votive to seize
Skarr saw it all as soon as he rounded their slavering war hounds running Khorne’s attention so that he might
the last spire into the chasm’s eastern free amongst them, the wounded see the deeds wrought in his name.
mouth. The sun was blazing bright dragging their twisted legs behind, or
far above the canopy, shafts of golden else trampled by their fellows. The Zhufbarak saw the bleeding and
light piercing the leaves to illuminate shot-ravaged northlander continue his
the warriors below. He saw the Further down the slope, the cannons mad charge, and dismissed him as a
thunderers and war engines clustered roared again, their voices joined berserker whose strength would fade
at the chasm’s narrowest point, the this time by the staccato cracks of long before he reached their lines. Gelt
gleaming blocks of rune-armour upon the Zhufbarak’s organ gun, and the suspected otherwise. The wizard’s
the flanks. Overhead, Skarr could thunderers’ volley. At Hammerson’s senses had been widened since his
see the gyrocopters bobbing like command, the gyrocopters of the joining with Chamon, and he could
corks upon a wave, waiting for the Blackwater Squadron at last opened feel a dark and oppressive presence
signal to attack. Between the chasm’s their throttles. Skimming as low as drawing across the battlefield. He
treacherous confines and the waiting they dared, the pilots strafed the had no name for it, nor even a true
Zhufbarak, he knew that hundreds of skullreapers, jinking deftly to evade feeling of its shape. He knew it was
Skaramor would perish before even the heavy axes thrown their way monstrous beyond description, as
coming to within blade’s length of in return. The leading edge of the dark and unknowable as the abyss
the enemy. Skarr was unconcerned. Skaramor charge all but evaporated between the distant stars.
Khorne was with him, and the Lord under that assault. One moment there
of Skulls cared not from whence the was a bellowing mass of northlanders, Up to that point, Gelt had drawn
blood flowed. axes whirling in anticipation of the but little upon his magic. He had
fight to come. The next, the chasm lain enchantments upon the dwarfs’
Bellowing more like a beast than a floor was painted red with their blood, weaponry, rousing runes to brilliance
man, Skarr charged into the chasm’s the undergrowth littered with corpses with a gesture, but had kept the
depths. His shout was taken up by the and body-parts. greater part of his power shrouded,
warriors who came behind, and the held back for a crucial moment.
Skaramor attack began. Skarr was suddenly alone, his
vanguard snatched to ruin by the As Skarr drew nearer, Gelt deemed
The Zhufbarak did not match the Zhufbarak, the nearest reinforcements the time had come. Urging Quicksilver
northlanders’ war cry with one of a dozen paces and more behind. Yet forward, the wizard supped deep of
their own. Instead, their war machines the champion did not slow his pace, Chamon. A filigree orb of gold began
spoke for them. There was a colossal did not balk at the odds before him. to form between Gelt’s outstretched
roar, and the dwarfs vanished from He merely bellowed fresh praise to hands, growing larger and more solid
sight, hidden at once by seething Khorne, set his chained axes whirling, as magic flooded into it. When the
cannon smoke. The first shot was and redoubled his pace. orb was about the size of a man’s

110 | Chapter 3
head, the wizard breathed gently Gelt first realised that something
upon it, sending it rolling serenely was wrong just as the dwarfen fire
uphill, directly into Skarr’s path. On thickened once more. He had intended
the orb travelled, through the crash to keep the orb in motion until it
and thunder of artillery, through the reached the far end of the chasm.
smoke that clogged the chasm floor. However, it had not even covered a
third of that distance when the sky
The orb grew larger with every went suddenly dark, and a wrathful
moment, quickly surpassing an ogre’s thunderclap rolled overhead. At once,
girth, and then a dragon’s wingspan. Gelt felt the orb unravel, the magics
The Blackwater gyrocopters aborted of its creation dissipating like smoke
their attack run, and banked hurriedly in a sudden breeze. Pain followed, a
aside from the orb’s path. Rotor thousand red hot needles stabbing
blades skirted the rocky walls as deep into his mind, the sudden
they put their craft through evasive agony of it causing him to fall from
manoeuvres that danced on the very Quicksilver’s saddle. Hammerson
edge of suicide. Still the orb rolled on. saw the wizard collapse, ordered the
Gold glittered in its wake, the rock Ironclads to his side, but he could not
and flora of the chasm transmuted have been prepared for what followed.
into a king’s ransom in precious
metal. And still the orb continued. What happened next took many forms
in the minds of those who saw it.
By the time Skarr realised his danger, For some, a wall of dark fire sprang
it was too late. The glimmering up along the chasm, enveloping
orb loomed large before him. The the dwarf line and the transmuted
champion could not run past it, for remains of the Skaramor, and setting
it now filled the space between the the canopy ablaze. Others recalled a
chasm walls. Retreat was Skarr’s only gale sweeping down from the east, its
course, but it was also an unthinkable winds striking armour and flesh with
one. Refusing to admit defeat, the the force of an axe. More witnessed
champion hurled himself into the orb’s the rock floor of the chasm buck and
golden depths, roaring defiance as he heave, sending boulders and wicked
did so. A heartbeat later, his wrathful shards tearing across the Zhufbarak
cries fell silent. The orb continued its lines. Gelt saw all this through eyes
journey, leaving Skarr as a perfect half-lidded with pain. However,
golden statue in its wake. Immediately he bore witness as much through
after, the next wave of Skaramor met Chamon’s senses as his own, and so
the same fate as their warlord, as the perceived something the others did
orb’s transmuting touch stilled their not, something that sent black fear
fury into golden silence. worming its way through his guts.

Despite their best efforts and natural Gelt saw the tip of a colossal sword –
cynicism, many of the dwarfs were so vast that its breadth was scarcely
awestruck by what they had just less than the chasm’s width – plunge
witnessed. Their fire slackened and through the forest canopy behind the
almost stopped, until Hammerson’s dwarf lines and deep into the rock
gruff voice stirred them to action floor. As its unseen wielder twisted
once again. Hundreds of the foe had the blade, the sword’s tip scraped
been vanquished, but hundreds more eastward through the chasm. The
remained. Armoured warriors with ground trembled and split, and great
tall shields and stamping juggernaut slabs of rock broke off from the chasm
steeds could be seen entering the walls, crushing one of the Zhufbarak
chasm’s eastern end. Even with this cannon. Fire sprang up and rock
respite the battle was far from done, shattered wherever the god-steel
and there was nothing, save for touched, thick black smoke billowing
defeat, to be gained from lollygagging. behind it.
The dwarfs unfortunate enough to gaze upon them that day, and it drove
be caught in the blade’s path were them forward with a savagery that
pulped instantly, those lucky enough even gromril armour could not thwart.
to avoid its strike were cast from their
feet, choking from the fumes. This The Holzengard’s banner fell as a
was all bad enough for the dwarfs, skullreaper’s blade clove the bearer’s
but where the god-steel touched those head from his shoulders. Another
Skaramor transmuted by Gelt’s spell, hammerer snatched up the metal
it unmade the enchantment. The gold pole as it toppled, determined that
exploded into glittering dust soon lost Zhufbar’s last royal banner should
amidst the smoke, and then the sword not be dishonoured. He too fell dead,
was gone as quickly as it had struck, hacked apart by frenzied blades,
it bearer’s gaze drawn elsewhere. but the fire of battle was in the
dwarfs’ bellies now. Giving voice to
In that moment, the Zhufbarak lines a booming challenge in Khazalid,
were thrown into disarray. Scores of the Holzengard’s survivors surged
dwarfs had perished in the sword’s forward like a battering ram of
strike, whether immolated by the gromril and flesh. They heaved the
flames, crushed beneath falling rock northlanders back from their banner,
or pulverised by the blade itself. their great hammers crunching
Shield walls and gun lines had been flesh and bone. Screams of the
split apart, the survivors lost in the dying echoed through the smoke,
choking black smoke. Voices carried merging with dwarfen oaths and the
through the murk as Hammerson and northlanders’ guttural roars.
his veterans tried to restore some
order to the battered Zhufbarak. They Back and forth that battle heaved.
were far too late. Fresh Skaramor came constantly to
the fight, the sheer weight of their
Skarr understood little of what had charge driving the dwarfs back over
just happened. However, he had heard the tidemark of dead. In response,
Khorne’s voice in his mind as the the dwarfs shrank back, letting the
enchantment fell away from his flesh, northlanders expend their momentum,
felt new strength flood into limbs that then forging resolutely into the fray
had last felt leaden and heavy. For one once more.
such as he, understanding mattered
little. All he craved was another The dwarfs had been staggered, but
chance to wreak slaughter, and the now they came back strong. Tongues
Lord of Skulls had granted that to of flame licked the Skaramor’s right
him. Skarr scarcely noticed the acrid flank as drakeguns were brought to
smoke, or the fire still raging fitfully bear, whilst the northlanders’ left
across the chasm floor. All he knew of shrank steadily back as the locked
were the axes heavy in his hands, and shields of the Ironclads slammed
the promise of hundreds of skulls ripe home. Runes blazed as hammers and
for the taking. axes crashed down, splitting armour
and flesh. Though his skull still
The hammerers of the Holzengard throbbed, Gelt had recovered enough
were the first to feel Skarr’s reborn to play his part, and his enchantments
fury. Twin axes parted the smoke, and rendered gromril armour harder than
hacked deep into the Zhufbarak front diamond, proof against even the most
rank. Skullreapers came screaming frenzied of axe-blows.
behind their warlord. Some were
those who had been restored by What had begun as a battle now
Khorne’s intervention. Others had devolved into little more than a brawl.
come from further east, bloodied by Zhufbarak and Skaramor banners
the dwarf artillery, but untouched by were little more than markers that
Gelt’s magics. All had felt Khorne’s roughly showed zones of dominance.
Dwarfs and northlanders swirled Gotri Hammerson could see that the Skarr Bloodwrath fought all but
through the smoke’s confusion, Zhufbarak line had been fractured, alone atop a pile of human and dwarf
navigating by the sound of clashing and the Skaramor had poured in corpses, the few skullreapers at his
metal more than sight. through the gaps; everywhere, the side drenched head to toe in blood.
dwarfs were surrounded. Hammerson There was no technique to Skarr’s
Only the Ironclads kept their had not expected to survive the battle, blows, just the brutal instincts of
order, their shield wall grinding had no faith that the elves of Athel a born warrior. He hacked through
remorselessly through the enemy Loren could be convinced to effect a shields and helms, throttled dwarfs
ranks. However, as another group rescue. He was gravely disappointed with his axes’ chains – even tore out
of Skaramor disintegrated under the all the same, for he had hoped to pass their throats with his teeth, if the
Ironclads’ assault, a new northlander into his ancestors’ halls with tales of a opportunity presented itself.
warband came to the fight, one whose battle worthy of legend. There was no
shields were tall and whose armour glory here, just a squalid slaughter. Skullcrushers thundered down
was a close match for Zhufbar- the chasm, their daemonic steeds
wrought gromril. These were the That the Zhufbarak had not been trampling friend and foe alike. The
Bloodshields, and they had marched swept away by the onslaught gyrocopters banked around to engage,
far in the hope of finding worthy was testament to their resolve. engines running fitfully as they sucked
victims. Giving voice to a raucous cry, Hammerson doubted that any in smoke-clogged air. Bomb-clamps
the northlanders rammed their shield mannish army would have held under snapped open, payloads arcing lazily
wall forward. The Ironclads’ response similar circumstances, although downward to explode amongst the
was automatic, as instinctive as Gelt’s determination was scarcely armoured daemon-cavalry, and
breathing. Without a word, the dwarfs less than that of the dwarfs he fought muffled explosions kicked more
shrank their line and locked their alongside. As the runesmith watched, smoke into the air. A dozen of the
shields tight together. The two shield the wizard plucked a vial from brutes went down, the riders broken
walls met with a crash that could be beneath his robes and sent it arcing and bloody, the juggernauts slumped
heard a dozen leagues away, but not towards the foe. The strange missile motionless with ichor seeping from
one dwarf took a step back. shattered against a northlander’s great rents in their brass hides. But
helm, sending seething liquid in all more came on, the survivors splitting
At last, the smoke was clearing. Rays directions. At once, the warrior began left and right around the Bloodshields.
of sunlight penetrated the ravaged to scream as the liquid ate away at his Lances punched through the
canopy once more, revealing the armour and flesh. A heartbeat later, Ironclads’ shield wall, sending dwarfs
battle’s true shape. From his position he collapsed, the metal of his helm hurtling. The ironbreakers staggered,
amidst the Firebores’ clansdwarfs, still hissing and bubbling. but held.

G elt saw the ironbreakers’ shield wall buckle.

Muttering an incantation so familiar that it needed
no conscious recollection, he sent a searing golden
‘You’ll be wanting thanks, I suppose,’ the runesmith
muttered gruffly.
‘If you have any to offer,’ Gelt replied, wondering if
beam into the nearest cluster of skullcrushers. Gelt he’d correctly guessed the dwarf’s mood.
saw the pressure on the shield wall slacken, saw the ‘As much as you like,’ said Hammerson. ‘Not that I
Ironclads reclaim lost ground. Another respite had been reckon it’ll change our situation. We’re not going to last
earned, but Gelt knew he could not be everywhere. much longer. If it’d just been the barbarians, we’d have
As if in confirmation, another wave of Skaramor been able to hold for hours, but when their bloody god
swept through the clearing smoke, crashing against got involved...’
Hammerson’s clansdwarfs. Gelt urged Quicksilver into ‘You saw that?’ Gelt interrupted, surprised.
the air, reaching for another enchantment that turned Hammerson snorted. ‘Of course I did. Don’t be
the northlanders’ axes to rusty scrap. With their blades mistaking me for a fool, just because I don’t have your
rendered useless, the Khornate tribesmen hammered at flashy magics. I have the sight, though I’d rather have
the dwarfs with feet and fists, but such weapons were been blind, all told.’
hardly a match for dwarf steel. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before,’ Gelt told
As Quicksilver carried Gelt into the thicket of dwarf him. ‘The walls between the mortal and immortal
axes, Hammerson felled his immediate opponent – a realms must be thinner than ever.’
burly northlander whose skin was more scarred than ‘Then it doesn’t much matter if we die today, does it?’
not – and pressed back through the Firebores’ ranks to Hammerson said dourly. ‘Seems like time’s running out
greet the wizard. for everyone, not just us.’

Chapter 3 | 113
 Another, larger wave of Skaramor Caradryan’s halberd was a blur of From that point on, the fate of
rounded the spire and charged steel, handled with a grace more the Skaramor to the flame-wall’s
headlong into the fire-scorched befitting a duelling rapier. On the west grew steadily more dire. The
chasm, but help had finally arrived. ground, Ashtari fought with huge Zhufbarak, though secretly glad that
For a second time that day, flames buffeting blows from his wings, each they would not join their ancestors
wreathed the skies. These were not sweep dashing a half-dozen broken that day, refused to be outdone by
the unnatural fires of Chaos, but the northlanders to the chasm floor. elves – no matter how timely their
contrails of phoenixes. Screeching arrival. Indignation and stubborn
with fury, they blazed down into the Scarcely had the Zhufbarak registered pride redoubled within the dwarfs’
chasm like meteors. the newcomers’ arrival when horns doughty hearts, lending strength to
sounded from the chasm’s western arms wearied by battle. All at once,
The attack was coordinated to end. Trees parted to reveal a column shield walls that had been on the
perfection. The firebirds swept of tall-helmed elf warriors, lion-pelts point of collapse locked tight once
low across the Skaramor horde, draped across their shoulders and again. They drove forward over dead
unconsciously mirroring the god- keen axes ready in their hands. They and dying northlanders, Khazalid war
steel’s earlier path. Fire followed in came forward at a run, armoured songs booming.
their wake, setting light to flesh and boots unerringly finding safe footing
fur. Hounds howled as the flames amongst the chasm floor’s tangled Even through his berserk haze, Skarr
consumed them, northlanders undergrowth. Behind came yet more could sense victory slipping away.
collapsed mid-swing, but not so much elves, their flame-marked cloaks and He swept his axes in a reverse-
as a single dwarf was scorched. shields bright against the chasm’s arc, beheading three dwarfs, and
fire-blackened walls. sending a fourth reeling back with
Halfway along the chasm, the half his chest torn away, but the
phoenixes suddenly split away at right sense of triumph was fleeting. A
angles to their previous course, each great slaughter had been wrought,
heading towards one of the chasm but defeat was still defeat. The Blood
walls. Within moments, the chasm God might have prized skulls more
was split in half, with the bulk of the than any other token, but Skarr – like
Skaramor horde trapped behind a all mortal champions – sought glory
towering wall of flame. Back and forth as well, and there was little glory
the phoenixes flew, weaving their without victory. But there was glory
blazing trails like spiders weaving in felling the mightiest foeman, and
webs, ensuring that the fires did not Skarr at once knew what he had to do.
fade. Those northlanders closest
to the barrier attempted to cross it, Skarr leapt from his cairn of dead
heedless of the fellows’ earlier fate. Now it was the turn of the Skaramor and dying, the momentum carrying
But the fires were too hot, and those to be outmatched. However, their him clear over the Firebores’ shield
who tried to breach them were dead change in fortunes did nothing to wall and deep into their ranks. On he
before they had covered even half the quench the northlanders’ ardour. forged, axes clearing a path through
distance. Even the juggernauts could Indeed, the arrival of fresh enemies the stocky warriors, every step, every
not endure the fearsome heat without only seemed to drive them into a hack and cut, bringing him closer to
their joints fusing and their brass deeper and more abiding rage. They his chosen target. Skarr did not feel
hides blistering. fought like beasts in a trap, howling the axes that bit into his own flesh,
and lashing out at any who came or the hammers that pummelled at
Whilst the firebirds had struck to deny close. Their reason was lost to his armour – there was only his prey.
the northlanders their reinforcements, berserk madness, their savage lusts At last, Skarr Bloodwrath hacked his
Caradryan’s frost phoenix swept a foreshadowing of what Khorne way clear of the Firebores and into
back its wings and ploughed straight wished for the world. The cornered the press of Skaramor on the far side.
into the battle. Ashtari’s icy talons Skaramor were a blood-curdling Gathering himself, he leapt high in the
slammed into the Skaramor, scattering sight, yet Caradryan’s elves had lately air, axes already swinging.
the tribesmen’s bodies like windswept fought Khaine-lost kinsmen captured
leaves. The survivors hurled by a similar rage. The elves’ hearts With his attention fully focused upon
themselves forward undismayed, were unmoved, and they hacked the the northlanders swarming about
their cursed blades hacking shards northlanders down like the beasts him, Ashtari did not mark Skarr’s
of frost from the phoenix’s wings. they had become, though it cost them approach, but Caradryan did. The
Few survived to land a second strike. many lives to do so. Phoenix Blade swept up, parrying

114 | Chapter 3
one of the warlord’s axes with a dull halberd from the tangle of chains, the Asuryan had not heard Caradryan’s
chime. The other cut down hard on captain ran at Skarr, the sound of his prayer. The Creator had passed from
Ashtari’s neck. The phoenix shrieked footsteps lost beneath the bellows the mortal world, his fire lost forever.
in pain. Shards of razor-sharp ice of victory. Flames flickered along the Leagues away to the north, however,
crackled across Caradryan’s armour Phoenix Blade as it struck, the killing another force took note of the plea.
and gouged deep into Skarr’s flesh. edge hacking deep into the warlord’s Though near-mindless, Aqshy felt the
The northlander landed heavily on spine, killing him instantly. Yet desperation of a kindred spirit, and
Ashtari’s wing, rolling away down the Caradryan was given no time to take blazed south towards the Chasm of
rime-laced feathers as the phoenix satisfaction in his vengeance – other Echoes. The Wind of Fire picked up
tried to shake him loose. northlanders were upon him before speed as it travelled, leaving a shining
Skarr’s corpse had hit the ground. flame-trail stretching briefly across
Skarr’s axe bit down hungrily into the Caradryan had time to whisper a the skies. It reached its destination
wing, its blade glowing a dull red as silent prayer to a god who no longer within moments, slamming down
it lodged deep in the phoenix’s frozen existed, and then the Skaramor were into the thick of the battle, through
flesh. For a heartbeat, Skarr hung upon him. the press of Skaramor, and claiming
ignominiously from the axe’s grip as Caradryan as its own.
Ashtari shifted beneath him. Then he
hauled himself upright, regained his Heavenly fire slammed into the
footing and charged along the shifting chasm. A heartbeat later, a nova of
wing once more. flame spilled out from the impact
site, incinerating scores of Skaramor
Caradryan’s blade arced out to sweep and engulfing the Bloodshields’ rear
Skarr’s legs from beneath him, but ranks. And rising from out of the
the warlord was prepared for such plume of fire, blazing like a meteor,
an attack. One axe blurred as it came Ashtari, reborn to the flames
left his hand. The chain snagged of his youth by Aqshy’s touch. Atop
on Caradryan’s halberd, the axe’s the phoenix’s back rode Caradryan,
momentum yanking the captain half- eyes blazing with fire, his soul melded
out of his saddle, and the weapon to the flame-wind. Ignoring the
back and out of his hands. Skarr northlanders howling beneath him,
struck before Caradryan recovered the new Incarnate raised his hands
his balance, his remaining axe hissing to the sky. At his command, the
to cleave the captain’s skull. With no flame-wall began to move, inexorably
other option save death, Caradryan flowing up into the eastern hills and
rode the momentum of the initial consuming all in its path.
blow, falling clear from Ashtari’s back
and feeling the wind of Skarr’s axe A few chieftains held their ground
pass above his head. Gotri Hammerson saw Ashtari at the chasm’s eastern end, but the
perish, saw Caradryan all but vanish tide of fire made ashes of them soon
Ashtari bucked hard, but Skarr would beneath a swarm of red-armoured enough, and their followers fled back
not be denied. Taking his remaining northlanders. He knew that the elf’s into the mountains. To the west,
axe in both hands, he brought the arrogance had led him to that fate, pockets of skullreapers battled on,
blade down on the phoenix’s neck a though honour insisted that he not snarling defiance, but Caradryan sent
second time. There was a sound like be abandoned. But there was little Aqshy’s fury flowing through the allies
breaking glass, and a chill blast that the runesmith could do. The elves’ marshalled against them. As one, the
sent the warlord sprawling to the arrival had bought the Zhufbarak dwarfs and elves surged forward, the
ground. With a last wailing screech, a temporary respite, but there was fire kindled in their hearts spilling
Ashtari shuddered once, and slumped still a sea of raging northlanders forth and rippling across their blades.
dead. Skarr roared in triumph, and the between Ashtari’s corpse and Blinded by desperate rage, the
sound was taken up by the Skaramor, the nearest dwarfen shield wall. skullreapers fought on, but their hour
spreading and growing in volume as Fortunately, others were able to act had now passed, and their victory had
other voices took up the cry. where Hammerson could not. With fallen to ashes. By the time Ashtari
a clatter of engines, the Blackwater wheeled to join the other phoenixes,
Caradryan uttered no word as he gyrocopters hurtled towards and swooped down into the battle
regained his feet, but the rage on his Caradryan’s last position, nose-guns trailing fire, the outcome was no
face was plain to see. Freeing his thinning the horde. longer in doubt.

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 Be’lakor had not stood idly by as allies long-cultivated. Hellebron was Yet it was no simple matter to
Skarr roused the Pine Crags to the daemon prince’s most recent approach the Oak of Ages. The secret
furore. Though the First-damned acquisition, and the most eager to join paths surrounding that ancient tree
would have preferred better timing, his cause, for humiliation still clung to were the most heavily defended in
he appreciated the value of a good her like a waterlogged cloak. Others all Athel Loren. Hidden eyes watched
distraction. The elves had responded were more difficult. The daemons of every spur, and way-fortresses
in far greater force than he had the Vaults of Winter knew Be’lakor overlooked every junction. Even
anticipated. Aside from Malekith and of old, and remembered the ill favour Drycha could not approach by that
Alarielle, there were perhaps a dozen with which the Dark Gods regarded route – she would already have done
commanders of note within Athel him. Nevertheless, they had long so were she able. Be’lakor, shrouded
Loren, and no fewer than six of those coveted the Oak of Ages, had sought as he was in primeval shadow, could
had been drawn into containing the to devour its sweet magics, and greed tread those paths, but he could take
Skaramor invasion. With most of the soon drove them into the First- no other upon the journey. A few
others engaged fighting Morghur’s damned’s clutches. weeks before, Hellebron could have
warherds in the west of the forest, marched her supporters along more
there was a small – but adequate – Drycha and Coeddil were the most mundane paths, coming to within
window of opportunity. reluctant of all those whom Be’lakor striking distance of the Eternal
sought out. Daemons and the spirits Glade, and the Oak within entirely
Be’lakor feared that time was running of Athel Loren had ever been the unopposed. However, with her recent
out. He knew full well the task that greatest of enemies, and at first the disgrace, it was doubtful that the
the Dark Gods had set Archaon, briarmaven and the fallen ancient Crone Queen would be regarded with
and was determined to do what he rejected his approaches. But Be’lakor anything but the utmost scrutiny –
could to upstage the Everchosen. was a prince of lies, and Drycha and especially if she brought an army at
Let Archaon delve into the rock of Coeddil too resentful of the elves. her back.
Middenheim if he wished. Be’lakor Too readily, they believed his tale of
would destroy the Oak of Ages. He merely wanting to humble the elves, Another distraction was needed, and
would rend the very Weave itself to claim their souls as an offering Be’lakor already knew how it could
asunder, and thus upstage the mortal to thirsting Slaanesh. Drycha and be done. Binding himself in shadow
who had stolen the gods’ favour. Coeddil did not see the deeper and once more, the First-damned sped to
darker desire lurking in the First- the halls of Naieth the Prophetess,
As the first blood was spilt in Esdari damned’s mind, for they would surely and trod lightly into her dreams. For
Corrin, Be’lakor cloaked himself in have opposed him had they done so. one such as Naieth, there was little
shadow. Unseen save by the insane, Instead, they pledged themselves to difference between dream and vision,
he ghosted along the secret paths Be’lakor’s plan, and rallied the fallen and it was simplicity itself for Be’lakor
of Athel Loren, drawing together forest spirits to his cause. to redirect her path.

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N aieth the Prophetess was dreaming of Middenheim,
or rather, what remained of it. The City of the
White Wolf had been gutted. Where the houses and
and strange lichens, there was no hiding the regular,
geometric design of these new tunnels. Shining stones
lined the wall, half-hidden by the cave-flora and
taverns, barracks and merchantrooms had once stood millennia of calcification, and Naieth knew at once that
there was a colossal pit, an excavation carved deep into these tunnels far predated the time of the elves.
the Fauschlag rock. What buildings remained lay in At last, Naieth’s dream-self passed into a half-
ruins. The Temple of Ulric was the only structure of any excavated and stalactite-encrusted chamber. The floor
size that still possessed a roof, and it was daubed with was thick with fragments of stalagmites, the ancient
blood and filth, the corpses of its priests hung from the formations presumably shattered to allow easier access
walls by their own entrails. to the chamber’s heart. There, held in place by two
Northlander campfires were clustered throughout perfect hemispheres of gold, Naieth at last saw what the
the devastation, the totems of the Dark Gods raised northlanders had delved so deep to find.
upon skull-draped poles. Hounds howled, and roaring The globe was as black as night, its surface pulsing
monsters pulled uselessly at chains set into the rock. and rippling like liquid. Each pulse caused a dull burst
Magic screamed and swirled through the devastated of light that travelled lazily across the rocky walls.
city, channelled to blood-spattered ritual circles by The light was colourless, and yet somehow all colours
chanting acolytes and horned sorcerers. at once. Even in her dream state, Naieth could sense
As her dream-self flew closer to the pit, Naieth saw the magic emanating from the globe, could taste the
toiling chain-gangs haul rock up from the depths. The corruption on the stale air. Her dream-self drew near,
slaves were mostly humans, captives taken during longed to reach out and touch it, but Naieth knew that to
Archaon’s assault on the Empire, but there were dwarfs do so would destroy her, dream or no.
and even ogres as well – the latter held captive by Circling the orb, Naieth took note of a tall, black-
far bulkier chains than the rest. All were stained by armoured figure standing silently upon its far side. A
the sweat and dirt of heavy labour, their sagging skin coven of sorcerers stood in silent attendance, heads
betraying the hunger gnawing at them. Skaven overseers bowed as their gold-helmed master communed with
stood guard over the slaves, chivvying them with lashes his treasure. Naieth’s dream-self could hear the lord
and spear butts, standing guard from rickety towers addressing his minions, but the sounds were too distant,
fashioned from Middenheim’s collapsed houses. too muffled for the prophetess to make any sense of
Down flew Naieth’s dream-self, down through the them. She drifted closer, trying to get some sense of
excavation’s winding tunnels. Soon she was deeper than what was said.
the humans had ever explored, but still the shuffling, The golden helm snapped suddenly up, its hollow eyes
grimy slaves trudged steadily upward, clutching torn staring directly at the prophetess’ dream-self.
baskets, or pushing handcarts laden with rocks. The He could see her.
dead lay where they had fallen, misshapen rats gnawing Naieth reeled away in panic, desperate to flee, but
at their pale corpses. she already knew she was too late. The third eye on the
Deeper still, and the rough tunnels became a memory, lord’s helm glowed a searing white, and suddenly all
yielding to vast chambers. Though lined with moss Naieth could hear were her own screams.

Naieth’s screams did not linger. and immortal realms. The pulse was unthinkable. Many elves – too
Through Be’lakor’s manipulations, of wild magic tore Naieth’s halls many – lost their lives by attacking
her spirit-form had crossed the Eye apart, leaving a crater whose slopes the daemons piecemeal, without
of Sheerian’s gaze, revealing her to gleamed like glass, and a jagged tear waiting for reinforcements. The
Archaon, and to the Dark Gods. The in the fabric of reality. Moments later, defences of the hidden paths were
prophetess was one of Athel Loren’s otherworldly screams split the glades abandoned as elves flooded to defend
foremost mages, but the spark of as the daemons of the Vaults of the Eternal Glade. It was only when
her power was as nothing before the Winter forced their way through. Malekith and Alarielle arrived that
all-consuming flame of the Chaos any semblance of strategy began to
Gods. Caught in their unblinking and At once, Talsyn awoke to fury. Those form. By then, however, it was too
terrible gaze, her fragile soul was who had not jolted from slumber at late. As the daemons forced their way
smothered in an instant, the scraps the sound of Naieth’s dying shriek into the Eternal Glade, Hellebron’s
hungrily devoured by Slaanesh. The were roused as the forest shuddered and Drycha’s followers overwhelmed
fury of the Dark Gods’ assault – far in pain. Desperation reigned. Naieth’s the remaining defenders of the hidden
exceeding that required to vanquish halls were less than a league from paths and launched their own assault
a mortal foe – flooded back through the Eternal Glade, and to have on the Oak of Ages. Athel Loren stood
the boundaries between the mortal daemons so close to the ancient tree on the brink of destruction.

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 THE HOST OF SHADOW
Though he had often scoffed at the concept of the Weave, Malekith well understood the Oak of Ages’
importance, and was swift to mobilise an army to defend it. However, the Eternity King was distracted. The
shadow within Malekith was calling out to another in the Eternal Glade, and he knew he would have to prove
his mastery before the battle was done.

MALEKITH, THE ETERNITY KING

Some had hoped that Malekith’s ascension to Eternity King would have
extinguished the darkness in his heart once and for all. Perhaps if Asuryan’s
flame had not withered and died, such a transformation would have been
possible. As matters stood, Malekith had become the embodiment of shadow,
and he could not be thus without darkness rekindling in his soul. For the
moment, the perils of the Rhana Dandra held him true to a more virtuous path
than he had known for many centuries, but it was impossible to say how long
that would last.

THE RAVENSPEARS
Information had ever been key to Malekith’s rule in Naggaroth. In Athel Loren,
his need for accurate tidings had only grown, for he now held dominion over an
unfamiliar land, and a fractured people whose loyalty he could never entirely
trust. The Ravenspears were the Eternity King’s trusted heralds, who rode the
hidden paths to bring him word from Athel Loren’s outflung realms. They were
swift horsemen, but canny with a blade too, for there were many dangers on
the hidden paths, and not all could simply be outpaced.

THE ETERNITY GUARD

In Ulthuan’s dying days, Malekith was defended by a bodyguard
drawn from Naggaroth’s Black Guard, and Ulthuan’s Phoenix
Guard. Once he became king of all three elven peoples, the Eternity
Guard was expanded to include a cohort of Wildwood rangers.
More properly, Malekith should have perhaps been accompanied
by eternal guard, but he would always have doubted the loyalty of
a bodyguard stolen from another lord. Moreover, he found the grim
bluntness of Cythral’s guardians a much closer match to his own
intemperate moods.

THE KRAKENSIDES
Naggaroth’s once-mighty corsair fleets had been all but
destroyed during the destruction of Ulthuan, with only a few
scattered crews remaining at Malekith’s side. The Krakensides
were, in fact, only a quarter of one such crew – the rest of the
elves aboard the Tower of Oblivion had thrown in their lot with
the Khaine-struck Tyrion. Malekith’s faith in them was far
from unassailable, but then the Eternity King trusted no one
completely. Nevertheless, the Krakensides had been stalwarts
of Malekith’s war host since their arrival in Athel Loren –
though it remained to be seen if that would continue.

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 Malekith, the Eternity King

Mezekar of the Dawn

Black Ark Fleetmaster

Meliss, Queen of Winter

Spellweaver

The Eternity Guard

One tower of Black Guard,
one legion of Phoenix Guard,
one kinband of Wildwood Rangers

The Winterborn
One kinband of
Sisters of the Thorn

The Chaindancers
One troupe of Sisters of Slaughter
THE WINTERBORN
The Winterborn arrived unheralded at Malekith’s new palace on the day he The Ravenspears
One vanguard of Dark Riders
was crowned Eternity King. From the first, they made it clear that they intended
to serve Malekith, whether he wished it or no, and insisted that they be given
quarters within the palace halls and rank within his court. Several lords and The Krakensides
One crew of Black Ark Corsairs,
ladies, knowing both Malekith’s uneven temperament and his unfamiliarity three Reaper Bolt Throwers
with the sisters of the thorn, sought to explain the honour that the Winterborn
bestowed, however abrupt their manner. More amused than outraged, Malekith The Shadows of Naggaroth
welcomed the witches into his retinue. Two regiments of Darkshards

The Revenants of Khaine

One regiment of High Elf Spearmen,
one regiment of High Elf Archers

Raema’s Vengeance
Two War Hydras, one Kharibdyss

THE REVENANTS OF KHAINE

That the Revenants of Khaine chose to fight alongside Malekith was perplexing
to many. It had been they who had fought and died on the Blighted Isle to
prevent the then Witch King from claiming the Widowmaker. Close-mouthed
as ever, they had made no attempt to explain their actions, but it was widely
assumed that they weren’t so much fighting at Malekith’s side as standing
ready to end his existence if he turned on his people once again. It is doubtful
that Malekith felt threatened by this, as the Revenants had already tried – and
failed – to kill him once before.

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 THE HOST OF LIFE
Where her king might doubt the concept of the Weave, Alarielle was under no such delusion. As the Incarnate
of Life, her powers were intrinsically bound to the Oak of Ages, and to the threads of reality that it held in
place. The attack upon the Eternal Glade was akin to an assault upon the Everqueen herself, and it provoked
her to a cold fury that her foes would soon learn to fear.

ALARIELLE, INCARNATE OF LIFE

Alarielle had met with far more acceptance amongst the newly-united elven
race than Malekith. The wood elves approved of Alarielle from the moment
Isha’s dying power was bequeathed to her, and still honoured her even though
that holy light had departed. The high elves still looked up to Alarielle as their
Everqueen, now shared with others. And the dark elves? They had come to
respect Alarielle for the ruthlessness and drive she had displayed many times
since Ulthuan’s fall. To be a champion of life was sometimes to be a bringer of
death, and Alarielle did not shirk from inflicting suffering where it was needed.

DURTHU
Durthu had been part of Athel Loren since its earliest days, and he now saw
its last moments drawing nigh. Where once the ancient had possessed great
hope for the future, now he saw only ashes on the wind in the days ahead,
and a hungry darkness which none would survive. Nonetheless, it was not in
Durthu’s nature to yield the fight simply because the odds of victory seemed
slim. His service, body and soul, was the Everqueen’s to command, and Athel
Loren his to protect. Those who wished to harm either of Durthu’s charges
would first have to survive his wrath.

THE EVERGUARD
The Sisters of Avelorn had guarded the Everqueen since the earliest
days of the elves. That duty had not changed, although their
number had. Of a sisterhood once counted by the hundred, only a
few dozen remained, banded together into a single guard dedicated
to the Everqueen’s protection. The Everguard did not find Athel
Loren much to their liking. It was somehow grimmer and darker
than Avelorn, its glades oppressive and alien. But Avelorn was gone,
and it was not for the Everguard to choose the realms that their
mistress deemed worthy of protection.

THE ASHENHAWKS
The Ashenhawks had once been Lord Araloth’s personal guard,
but had dedicated themselves to Alarielle following their master’s
disappearance. It was said that there were few in Athel Loren that
could match their skill with a longbow. Most had been trained by no
lesser hand than Scarloc’s, and though the famed scout had plainly
kept many of his secrets for his own, he had just as plainly shared
a great many more with his students. Scarloc had not, however,
managed to teach the Ashenhawks any manners, and a bitter rivalry
had sprung up between them and the Everguard.

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 Alarielle, Incarnate of Life

Durthu

Naestra and Arahan

Skarana
Treeman Ancient

The Everguard
Two Handmaidens of the Everqueen,
one regiment of Sisters of Avelorn

The Ashenhawks
Two kinbands of Glade Guard,
one kinband of Deepwood Scouts,
one kinband of Glade Riders

The Gnarled
One war-grove of Tree Kin
THE SISTERS OF THE ETERNAL GROVE
A dryad is an aspect of the tree to which she is bound, her characters The Sisters of the Eternal Grove
and strengths defined by her parent. The Sisters of the Eternal Grove were Three war-groves of Dryads
daughters of no lesser tree than the Oak of Ages itself, and its fire and might
echoed through their being also. Moreover, where most dryads were cruel The Oathkeepers
One kinband of Wild Riders of Kurnous
and malicious, the sisters were haughty and aloof, more akin to elves than
their fellow spirits. This, more than anything else, had allowed them to reject
the madness that had overtaken so many of Athel Loren’s dryads, but it was
unlikely that they would resist forever.

NAESTRA AND ARAHAN

Since Ariel’s death, her twin daughters
had seldom strayed far from
Alarielle’s side. The twins perceived
that the Everqueen was touched by
the same greatness as their mother,
and would suffer no harm to befall
her. Nevertheless, it seemed to many
that Naestra and Arahan were
growing apart, Arahan ever wilder,
and Naestra more reserved. The twins
were seen arguing more often than
not, though the details of these
quarrels eluded even Alarielle. The
truth was, of course, that Naestra
and Arahan were bound closer to
the Weave than any other elf; as
its tipping point approached, so
did theirs.

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 FIENDS AND BETRAYERS
The horde that fell upon the Eternal Glade comprised a number of unlikely alliances, motivated by madness,
selfishness, or a mixture of both. Be’lakor, Hellebron and Drycha each believed themselves the leader of this
unstable host, yet in truth none of them held but circumstantial power over the others. This was an army
driven by self-destructive insanity, and bound together only temporarily in common cause.

BE’LAKOR
Be’lakor had once believed himself the highest of all the
Dark Gods’ servants, yet time and again his masters had
elevated a mortal above him. Their most recent humiliation
had also been the greatest: commanding the First-damned to
crown Archaon as the thirteenth Everchosen – a status that
was rightly Be’lakor’s. Ever since, the daemon prince had
sought some way to sabotage Archaon’s plans or, better yet,
to pre-empt them. With the excavation at Middenheim all
but completed, Be’lakor’s options were growing thin – thin
enough to force his hand in Athel Loren.

HELLEBRON
It has long been said that the first step into betrayal is far
harder than those that follow. In Hellebron’s case, however,
it is hard to say with certainty when that first step had been
taken. Was it when she refused to abandon Naggaroth at
Malekith’s order? Or was it when she refused to take sides
in the war for Ulthuan, getting involved at last only for her
own selfish reasons? Certainly, by the time Be’lakor spoke
of his plan to destroy the Oak of Ages, Hellebron felt no
twinge of conscience or regret – even though, unlike
Drycha and Coeddil, she knew exactly what would
happen if they succeeded.

DRYCHA AND COEDDIL

Drycha and Coeddil were awash in their own resentments, their own
recollections of when the elves had failed Athel Loren. Both had been marked
by Morghur in times past, and perhaps it was his madness that drove their
actions. Certainly, Be’lakor had exploited their marred souls, used Morghur’s
taint as a weakness that left them susceptible to his manipulations. Yet all
along, the branchwraith and the treeman believed that they were using the
daemon to their own ends, that Athel Loren would return to normal once the
elves were driven from beneath the trees.

THE CARNIVAL OF SILENCE

Years of meeting defeat at the wood elves’ hands had left the daemons of the
Vault of Winter without a strong leader of their own. Too many of their heralds
and Keepers had been banished to the Forge of Souls, there to languish until
Slaanesh experienced a rare moment of pity. They were weak and leaderless
– easy prey for Be’lakor’s insincere promises of elven flesh and endless revels.
In truth, the First-damned intended to use the daemonettes as arrow-fodder,
wearing down the enemy until he was ready to strike. They lacked a part in his
glorious destiny, and were therefore expendable.

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 Be’lakor

Hellebron

Shadowblade

Drycha

Coeddil
Treeman Ancient

Slaanshari the Golden

Keeper of Secrets

Sslivoth Glorybound
Keeper of Secrets
THE CULT OF THE BLOOD QUEEN
Though the Cult of the Blood Queen had been abolished, many of the crone’s The Carnival of Silence
worshippers had maintained their faith in secret, waiting for their mistress’ call. Five Heralds of Slaanesh,
Hellebron had not wanted for worshippers within Athel Loren. The wood elves eight courts of Daemonettes,
three courts of Seekers,
had never been so coy about godly worship as their estranged cousins, and had
three packs of Fiends,
thrown themselves as readily into rites of blood and sacrifice as contemplative three Seeker Chariots, two Hellflayers
prayer. Even a few high elves, resentful of a reserved existence that had brought
them only woe, had been drawn to Hellebron’s simple creed of blood and pain. The Cult of the Blood Queen
Three warbands of Witch Elves,
one regiment of Executioners,
one regiment of Dreadspears,
one regiment of Bleakswords,
one regiment of High Elf Spearmen,
one crew of Corsairs,
two kinbands of Glade Riders,
one flock of Harpies

The Wildkin
Six war-groves of Dryads,
three war-groves of Tree Kin,
three Treemen, one Treeman Ancient

Sabberast
Soul Grinder

Mournsolis
Soul Grinder

THE WILDKIN
Drycha’s army was a strange mix of the lost and the damned, of those forest
spirits caught up by in their mistress’ flawed ideology, and those twisted by the
seeping taint of Chaos. Not all were mad. Some were quite rational, if lost in
self-delusion. Others were given to cruelty simply because it was their nature,
or because the trees to which they were bound had been eaten away by malice
or Morghur’s creeping influence. Mad or otherwise, they were not opponents to
be taken lightly – not since the days of Coeddil’s rebellion had the elves needed
to face so many forest spirits in battle.

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 DEFENCE OF THE ETERNAL GLADE
Hellebron’s cultists came upon the presence of Drycha and Hellebron articulate her fears. As the mighty
Eternal Glade from the east. They changed the odds considerably. beast struck the cultists’ lines, horns
were a mass of chanting, howling Nevertheless, those who observed rang out as wild riders and archers
murderers eager for victims, keen to Malekith noted that their sardonic came behind.
avenge the slight upon their priestess. monarch was of good cheer. Since his
Be’lakor’s daemons came from the crowning as Eternity King, Malekith Arrows thudded amongst the cultists’
north, springing from the Chaos rift had yearned to prove the rightness of ranks, and the wild riders’ spears
birthed by Naieth’s subverted flesh. his ascension in the fires of battle. A thrust home. The howling prayers of
Coeddil and Drycha struck from the great victory at the Oak of Ages would the cultists melded with their death-
south-west, accompanied by a host of forever cement him as the ruler of screams, but the blood of comrades
the Wildwood’s mad spirits. Athel Loren – the greater the victory, served only to drive Hellebron’s
the more unassailable his rule. Not for worshippers into a deeper and more
There was little coordination a moment did Malekith consider that abiding frenzy. Green-skinned knights
between the three forces. Each he might lose the battle. The Eternity were dragged from their steeds. Harsh
party considered the others to be King was prepared for the fact that he voices cut across the din, and skull-
nothing more than a means to an would almost certainly perish in the helmed executioners forced their way
end, distractions whose deaths would Rhana Dandra, but to fall before such through the cultists, eager to test their
speed victory along. Slaughter was an assemblage of traitors and lackeys skills against the chosen of Kurnous.
their only goal. Only Be’lakor, whose was unthinkable to him.
manipulations had brought them all to With a deafening roar, Ceithin-Har
the Eternal Glade, had any semblance Arahan and Naestra led the defence slammed into the fray, crumpled
of a plan, and he would no more have to the east, although to express it bodies spiralling away from his
shared it with his allies than with a thus did poor justice to what really impact. Executioners’ draichs cracked
rotting dog. entailed. Seeing Hellebron’s forces lost against his thick scales, or jabbed
in blood-madness, Arahan announced high to strike at the twins upon his
Malekith and Alarielle had marshalled her intent to counter-attack the Crone back. The dragon’s head lunged
what forces they could, and deployed Queen’s lines. Naestra disagreed with forward, snatching up an executioner
them as a wall of blades around the the strategy, deeming it too risky in his jaws. Arahan and Naestra
Oak of Ages. Had it been the daemons with so much at stake. However, their darted lithely back and forth upon
alone who had attacked, the Eternity dragon, Ceithin-Har, clearly agreed Ceithin-Har’s back, spears jabbing
King and Everqueen would have with Arahan, for he flew full tilt at down through the eye sockets of the
been confident in victory. Alas, the the foe before Naestra was able to executioners’ skull helms.

N aestra braced her feet on Ceithin-Har’s neck

and hauled upward on her spear-staff. Blood
fountained from the cultist’s skull helm as the point
as she did so. Turning back to the east, she saw it – a
dark and jagged silhouette against the trees, thick steam
rising from the cauldron at its front.
came free. Naestra loosed the shot without a conscious thought.
‘This is madness!’ Naestra shouted. She saw it blaze towards the cauldron of blood, flying
‘I know!’ Arahan replied with a grin, her eyes as wild true for the masked priestess cavorting and chanting
as an autumn wind. ‘It’s marvellous, isn’t it?’ beneath the statue of a dead god.
Naestra didn’t reply. A wholly alien bloodlust was At the last moment, the priestess darted aside, her
scratching at the edges of her mind – it was all she could chanting stilled for the moment. The arrow struck one
do to keep control. The smell of blood was intoxicating; of her acolytes, snatching her up and smashing her
she longed to run her tongue along her spear’s blade, to through the jagged pillars at the shrine’s rear.
taste the fruits of her kill. Naestra felt the bloodlust recede, relief flooding in to
NO! Naestra screamed silently. The madness of take its place. She looked down to see the wild riders,
the Blood Queen’s cultists was infecting her, and she freed from the cauldron’s spell, retreating at last.
thought she knew why. ‘We need to go,’ she shouted.
Sliding her spear back into the leather loops on her For a moment, Naestra thought Arahan was going to
back, Naestra ran further up Ceithin-Har’s back, fingers deny her. Then her sister gave a curt nod, and Naestra at
reaching for an arrow and drawing back her bowstring last saw an echo of her own concern in her twin’s face.

126 | Chapter 3
Their reprieve thus bought, the wild alliance. Dryads shrieked as they tore
riders fell back, riding hard towards at their sisters, treemen boomed in
their lines of archers. Arahan and languages of old as they exchanged
Naestra lingered a moment longer, blows that would have staggered
the former laughing only a touch less mountains. It was nothing less than a
cruelly than those she slew. Then battle for Athel Loren’s soul, with the
Ceithin-Har’s wings beat once, the fate of the Weave – and indeed, the
downdraft sending executioners and world – hanging in the balance.
cultists reeling, and the dragon went
skyward once more. Thinking the To the north, the Carnival of Silence
retreat evidence of victory, Hellebron covered the ground to Malekith’s lines
screamed at her cultists to pursue. with swift strides, each step part of
This they gladly did, singing their a dance that had begun when the
Blood Queen’s praises in raucous world was young. The daemonettes
tones. Then a great volley of arrows sang as they advanced, though none
sliced through the leading ranks, and of the notes reached the ears of their
the pursuit’s momentum stumbled foes, for their pitch was beyond the
and failed. conscious mortal mind. Snake-bodied
steeds and horned fiends hooted and
Hellebron was all but lost to battle- trilled as they outpaced the running
madness. From the top of her daemonettes, and behind came the
cauldron-throne, she saw the charge four-armed Keepers, each moving
and retreat of the wood elves, but with a smooth grace that was neither
scarcely realised the grim tally it had fast nor slow.
cost her own forces. Perhaps a third
of the Cult of the Blood Queen was Malekith could sense the fear building
dead or dying, but the Crone Queen in his army. Not in the Black Guard,
hardly noticed. She saw only that of course, for past experience had
the enemy had fallen back, that the taught them to fear him above all
first victory of many was hers. She other things. However, the high elves
screamed orders at her followers, and wood elves under his command
promising an eternity of slaughter to had not fought beneath the Witch
those who survived the day. As one, King of old, had not been forged in
the survivors forgot their wounds, the fire of his mercurial temper. As
and ran headlong after Arahan and the daemons closed, Malekith urged
Naestra’s forces. Seraphon forward at a brisk walk, and
ordered the Black Guard to advance
Further to the south, Alarielle’s at his side. To the Eternity King’s
forces were already locked in conflict approval, the Phoenix Guard came
with Drycha’s Wildkin. These were also, mirroring their dark brethren on
the bitterest of battles. Much of the Malekith’s right.
briarmaven’s army was drawn from
the resentful spirits of the Wildwood; A heartbeat later, the first seekers
they offered and received no quarter crashed home against the wall of
from the elves they had hated for levelled halberds. The daemons were
so long. They tore at Alarielle’s swift beyond most mortals, but not
warriors with thorn, branch and briar, the elves. Claw thrusts were parried,
shredding, choking and slashing halberd blades hacked down and pale,
– anything to rid the forest of the otherworldly flesh was stained with
despised usurpers. black ichor. A trio of fiends charged
straight for Malekith, chittering and
However, not all the forest spirits clicking as they came. The Eternity
supported Drycha. Many dryads King was disappointed – he had
and tree kin remained true to their hoped to draw the ire of one of the
friendship with the elves, fought their Keepers, but the upset didn’t slow him
own kind in the name of that ancient in the slightest.
 As Seraphon belched a gout of not even to utilise his magics, for Be’lakor’s web of manipulation was
choking black cloud, Malekith drew he deemed that such an act would far from undetectable. Had all things
upon the shadow-power of Ulgu. be as good as unfurling a banner to been equal, Alarielle or Malekith
His first spell blinded the chittering announce his presence. Instead, he would have sensed his voice upon the
daemons, dulling their senses and watched Hellebron’s cultists hack winds. However, neither had attention
their reactions; his second sent a and tear at their kinsmen, witnessed to spare.
great shadowy blade sweeping across Drycha’s maddened dryads work to
the fiends’ line of advance, and cut all purge the hated elves from the Oak Hellebron’s insanity was a living
three in half. of Ages. It occurred to Be’lakor that thing, wine-dark and infectious. All
both the crone and the briarmaven who fought in the Eternal Glade felt
Daemonettes had come in behind intended to slaughter the other once its presence, and none more strongly
the seekers now, and the first elves the battle was won, and it amused the than those elves who strove with the
started to fall. They perished in daemon that they believed he would cultists blade upon blade. Without
silence, the Phoenix Guard because of allow them the chance. Alarielle’s presence, hundreds of elves
their oath to a departed god, the Black would surely have been overcome by
Guard out of a desire to show no Hellebron’s seductive madness. As
weakness. Thus was the battle fought it was, the power of life blossoming
in an eerie near-silence, with the through the Everqueen healed minds
occasional death-hoots of Slaaneshi as well as bodies, casting back the
steeds and the wet thud of blades in tide of insanity from all who fought
yielding flesh. at her side as surely as it drove away
their physical harms. Not all could be
The daemonettes were much more saved. Some elves rounded suddenly
numerous than the elves of Malekith’s on their fellows, hacking and slashing,
guard, and soon began to spill past tongues spewing hatred and horror.
the wall of halberds, but such had But these were few, a warning of the
been the Eternity King’s plan. Those Yet though the First-damned took no full terror that would have unfolded
daemons who flooded past his flanks personal part in that battle, he did not without the Everqueen’s presence.
were disorganised and anarchic, their stand entirely idle. The daemons of
attention focussed more on encircling the Vaults of Winter were anarchic in Malekith, too, found his powers
and overwhelming the immediate the extreme, adhering to little in the tested to the limit. As the battle
foe than engaging the entirety of way of strategy. As a result, Be’lakor had worn on, Drycha’s dryads had
Malekith’s force. often had to force his will upon one abandoned their attempt to strike
troupe or another. He instructed solely at Alarielle’s lines. Instead,
This quickly proved a mistake. As daemonettes to abandon doomed they shifted and faded through the
the wave of daemonettes split apart attacks against enraged treemen, trees, employing paths long-hidden
on the Eternity King’s breakwater, directed hellflayers and seekers in from the elves to strike at vulnerable
Malekith ordered the rest of his army coordinated strikes, and wove a sections of the elven lines. Again and
to engage. Crossbows rattled and constant bewildering pattern from the again, the Eternity King had to bend
glowing javelins hissed through the daemons’ dances. the shadows to his bidding, enfolding
air, thinning the numbers of those a kinband or legion and transporting
daemons who thought to overwhelm The Vaults’ Keepers were reluctant to them to a distant corner of the glade
the Eternity Guard. At once, the mass be commanded – even by a creature to counter the latest threat. Only he
of daemonettes shuddered and shrank so powerful as Be’lakor. However, the had the slightest inkling of Be’lakor’s
inward. As they did so, a chorus of First-damned was in little mood to be presence. Each time Malekith reached
roars split the air as Malekith’s war defied and he ruthlessly smothered out into the shadows, he heard echoes
hydras were driven against the foe’s their resistance. Be’lakor felt no of a sibilant voice – near, yet far-
recoiling flanks. fondness for his half-kin. Indeed, they distant. But each time he considered
were no less his tools than the elves investigating, another burgeoning
Be’lakor, ever a careful custodian of and forest spirits under his command. crisis stole his attention away, and
his own skin, hung back throughout. However, the battle was too close Be’lakor went undiscovered. It helped
From the glade’s edge, he watched to risk wastefulness. Be’lakor was not at all that a part of Malekith’s
the ebb and flow of the fight, drinking determined that those who died that attention was given to seeking a
in the carnage he had so effortlessly day would do so to forward his goals, particular presence amongst the
orchestrated, taking stock of Malekith rather than out of laxness or stupidity enemy ranks, one that he was
and Alarielle. The daemon was careful on their part. determined not to overlook.

128 | Chapter 3
D eep beneath the Oak of Ages, Teclis looked down at
the withered corpse as Malhandir waited restlessly
at his side. The body was clad in a robe of green and
‘Now you must finish the journey you began,’ the lion-
cloaked figure concurred.
‘That journey led to your deaths,’ Teclis protested.
gold, and lay upon a bed of leaf and briar. For all the The eagle-helmed shade shook his head. ‘We did not
world, it looked like it had lain there for centuries, die by your hand.’
although he knew not more than a few years had gone ‘We chose our own paths,’ the loremaster agreed.
since Ariel had passed away. ‘We trusted you,’ the southern noble assured him.
‘Time is running short,’ said the shadowy loremaster ‘And we would do so again,’ said the rugged warrior.
at Teclis’ shoulder. Teclis sighed, his eyes drawn to the casket. So many
‘It is almost spent,’ agreed the southern noble. sacrifices. So many betrayals.
The elementals lowered the casket to the ground, but ‘Ah, but will he trust me?’ he asked aloud. ‘Will he
Teclis hardly noticed. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the understand?’ He looked again at Ariel’s desiccated body,
corpse, was not sure he could bring himself to act now then up at the four shades. ‘You’re right. Doubt is a
that the time had come. What if Lileath had been wrong? luxury I cannot afford. What will be, must be.’ He gave
What if he had been wrong? a sad smile. ‘Thank you for sharing this burden, but now
‘Am I not allowed a moment’s doubt?’ he asked, we must part.’
forgetting again the futility of arguing with splinters of Teclis spoke the words of unmaking, watched as the
his own subconscious. shadowy likenesses of Belannaer, Finubar, Eltharion and
‘No,’ the eagle-helmed shade said bluntly. ‘The time Korhil vanished into nothing.
for doubts was long ago.’ And then he was alone with the dead.

With a bellow that shook the leaves and dryads followed their elder’s path Durthu’s voice boomed out as his
overhead, Coeddil came straight for of destruction, the former falling upon sword swept down, the Daith-forged
Alarielle. In his madness, the ancient the scattered elves with rumbling steel sending splinters of iron-hard
perceived the Everqueen to be her sighs at the prospect of vengeance, bark spraying in all directions. His
predecessor, Ariel – she who had the latter with shrill cries of delight. words were too ancient for the
caged him, all those centuries ago. elves to comprehend, but Coeddil
Eternal guardsmen and warriors Far to the east, Naestra and Arahan at understood their challenge, and
of the Everguard held firm before last recognised Alarielle’s peril. With met his brother’s blow with one of
Coeddil, and paid for this bravery with a mighty roar, Ceithin-Har banked his own. Durthu staggered back as
their lives. Bones snapped like twigs sharply towards the Everqueen, but Coeddil’s fist slammed into his chest,
as Coeddil trampled forward, crushing knew that he would be too late. The buckling the bark across his midriff.
elves underfoot or bludgeoning Everqueen’s lines had been shattered Durthu swung again, but Coeddil
them aside with his gnarled fists. by Coeddil’s charge, and those elves stepped inside the arc, and locked
Spears and arrows rebounded off the not desperately fighting for their lives one massive hand around the other
treeman’s thick hide, with only the were separated from their queen by treeman’s wrist. For a moment,
luckiest of strikes penetrating the bark a tide of forest spirits. Yet Alarielle nothing happened as the two mighty
and drawing forth streams of sap. stood her ground, refusing to flee beings strove silently against one
before Coeddil’s rampage. Again another. Then there was a twisting,
Coeddil scarcely noticed. Vengeance she called thorns to bind him, used cracking sound as Coeddil tore
drove him, and hatred numbed his magic to smite him with enchanted Durthu’s weapon hand free.
wounds. A hundred elves could not deadwood. Even when a vast, thorn-
have held him at bay, and twice that scarred fist reached down for her, the Durthu loosed a cracking bellow of
number would have done little more Everqueen did not flinch. pain as Coeddil dropped the severed
than slow him down. Karann – a forearm – and the sword it still held
treeman less than half Coeddil’s age Coeddil’s fist never touched Alarielle. – to the ground. But Durthu did not
– moved to bar the ancient’s path. In the moment before the blow landed, waver. Lurching forward, he butted
He was knocked away spinning by a thunderous impact struck the Coeddil hard in the face, the impact
a two-fisted blow that left his face ancient’s shoulder, hurling him aside. shearing off several antlers. Coeddil
pulverised, and his torso running Dryads screeched as Coeddil stomped staggered under the impact and
with sap. Alarielle called thorns to them flat in a desperate attempt Durthu struck once more, the forepart
cage Coeddil. He tore free, snapped to find his footing, the survivors of his undamaged arm smashing
and twisted tendrils trailing from his scattering as the ancient’s assailant down into his brother’s shoulder and
shoulders and legs. Wildwood tree kin lumbered close for another blow. driving Coeddil to one knee.

Chapter 3 | 129
 Far below, elves and dryads scattered To the east, Hellebron at last realised slender fingers. Elves fell numb as the
like ants, knowing that to tarry was that her true foe – the Everqueen – Keeper advanced, weapons dropping
to be crushed by these battling giants. was not present in the forces arrayed slackly to their sides, eyes staring
Only Alarielle held fast, her lips against her. Slighted that her banisher vacantly ahead until a sweep from the
moving soundlessly and the magics would choose to face any foe other monster’s sword ended their lives.
of life flowing from her fingertips as than herself, the crone ordered her
she sought to reknit Durthu’s wounds. army to march south and confront Malekith alone was unaffected by
Already, green tendrils were bursting Alarielle directly. the creature’s wiles. He had faced
through the ruin of Durthu’s right N’kari, the greatest of their kind,
arm, winding and flailing as they This decision cost the Cult of the many times before. On each occasion,
formed a new limb. Blood Queen dearly. Neither they, he had emerged the victor, and he
nor their mistress, gave any thought was not about to fall before some
Realising that he could not defeat to the danger of leaving Naestra and lesser Keeper. The Eternity King
Alarielle and Durthu together, Coeddil Arahan’s forces unengaged upon their drew upon his own magics as the
reached out for the Everqueen flank. For their part, the daughters daemon approached, sending swirling
a second time. Again, Durthu of Ariel were bewildered that their phantoms of long-dead elves to dog
interceded, snaring his brother’s foe should embrace such a self- the creature’s steps. Slowed by the
straining hand with his own fingers. destructive tactic, but this did not elemental effigies, the daemon had no
Using Coeddil’s momentum, Durthu prevent them from taking advantage chance to evade Seraphon’s sudden
hauled him to his knees. Before of the strange opportunity. As pounce. The dragon’s talons struck
Coeddil could twist free, Durthu Hellebron’s cauldron rumbled south, the Keeper of Secrets high in the
shifted his grasp. Moving with a grace her right flank was torn increasingly chest, bearing it to the ground.
entirely at odds with his appearance, ragged by bow and spear. Another
Durthu locked his forearm across army might have broken and fled, but Though pinned beneath the dragon’s
Coeddil’s throat, and stepped behind the blood-madness still lay thick upon weight, the daemon did not give in.
him. At the same time, the fingers Hellebron’s followers. It hammered and tore at Seraphon’s
of Durthu’s new-grown right hand flanks, ripping free great chunks of
fastened around the hilt of his fallen Nevertheless, for all that Hellebron’s scaled flesh. Seraphon roared in pain,
sword, and plucked it up. Coeddil tore decision pushed her own forces closer but she had known far worse wounds
and scraped at the forearm holding to destruction, it proved equally in her long life, and fought back all
him prisoner, but Durthu’s grip did dangerous for Alarielle’s army. The the harder. Iron-hard teeth tore a
not slacken. Wildkin had become even more huge gobbet of flesh from the Keeper’s
savage following Coeddil’s death, shoulder. Taloned foreclaws scored
With a last bellow, that was half and it was all the Everqueen could do tracks along the daemon’s face.
triumph and half sorrow, Durthu to hold them back. When the first of Atop Seraphon’s shoulders, Malekith
drove the point of his sword through Hellebron’s cultists crashed against unmade his phantoms with a gesture,
Coeddil’s back and out through his Alarielle’s eastern flank, it became transmuting their remains into a cloud
breast. The blighted treeman lurched clear to the Everqueen that she would of razor-sharp darts that burrowed
hard against his brother’s grip, but have to fall back closer to the Oak of into the Keeper’s flesh, worming their
the reaction was only reflex. Durthu Ages or be overwhelmed. way deep into its unnatural organs.
had pierced the web of knotted fibres The daemon screamed. It gave a
of Coeddil’s heart, and his brother Elsewhere, Malekith had eyes only final shudder that might have been
was already dying. Orange sap turned for the battle against the daemons pleasure or pain, and then lay still.
black as it pulsed across the elf-forged – a battle that was going well. To Seraphon gave a roar of triumph, then
steel. Drawing his sword free, Durthu the north of the Oak, the ground dipped her dripping maw to tear out
let Coeddil fall. The vast corpse hit the was strewn with cairns of pale, the creature’s throat.
ground with dull thud. daemonic flesh. Elves had perished
too, but the tally was well in their Despite their horrendous losses,
To the west, Drycha knew that her favour. Daemonettes had been slain the Carnival of Silence pressed
master was dead, and let cry a shriek by the hundred, and their beasts of on, but now Malekith deemed that
of rage and grief so pure that it war had fared little better. One of corner of the battle to have been
chilled the blood of all who heard it. the Keepers was already dead, its won, and at last spared a thought
The ululating wail was taken up by strange, silken hide pierced by more for his beleaguered queen. Leaving
other Wildkin dryads, and they threw than a hundred crossbow bolts. The the northern quarter in Fleetmaster
themselves back into the fight with other at last bore down on Malekith, Mezekar’s command, he ordered the
renewed ferocity. scented magic dripping from its long, Eternity Guard to march southward,

130 | Chapter 3
to reinforce Alarielle’s lines. Malekith Thus did the assassin and the king
intended to follow them. However, in fight their battle, not on firm ground,
the moment Seraphon took wing, a but upon the back of the speeding
shadow dropped from the trees above, dragon. Wind whipped at the
a curved dagger arcing towards the duellists, threatening to pluck them
Eternity King’s back. from the skies at any moment, but
still they fought on. They were evenly
At another time, or another place, matched, blades blurring with each
Shadowblade might have succeeded. parry and thrust. Shadowblade had
However, Malekith had expected the advantage of speed, but Malekith
the assassination attempt from the had the greater reach. Neither of them
moment that Hellebron’s cult had could land a blow. A dozen times,
been outlawed – the Blood Queen’s Malekith swept out his sword, only
presence on the battlefield had made for it to hiss through empty air as
it a certainty. Throughout the battle, Shadowblade darted back. But just
even during the clash with the Keeper as often, the assassin had to turn his
of Secrets, the Eternity King had kept own strike into a desperate parry, lest
a portion of his mind fixed upon the the Eternity King strike his head from
shadows around him. The Malekith his shoulders.
of old could perhaps have been taken
by surprise by a blade in the dark, but Seraphon passed beneath one of
not Malekith, Incarnate of Shadow. the Oak of Ages’ vast boughs, and
There was little that moved in the all three were swamped in shadow.
darkness that he could not sense, The assassin saw Malekith turn, his
and thus he was aware of his would- guard suddenly down. Shadowblade
be killer’s approach almost in the gave a growl of delight and sprang
moment it began. forward, dagger aimed to slam into
the Eternity King’s throat. He missed.
Even then, Shadowblade was nearly Malekith was gone without trace, and
too swift. Malekith twisted aside the blade thrust through empty air.
in the saddle, but could not evade The assassin was thrown into rare
the blade entirely. Sparks flew as confusion, then gave a brief cry as
it ripped deep into the Armour of Malekith emerged from the shadows
Midnight. Blood pulsed through behind him and hacked deep into his
the rent. There was poison on the ribs. As Seraphon emerged into the
blade – Malekith felt its sting at once. light once more, Shadowblade slipped
However, the Eternity King had taken sideways across the dragon’s back,
precautions since Shadowblade’s last dagger falling from unresponsive
attempt on his life, ingesting minute hands. Malekith looked briefly down
amounts of the toxins he knew the at his would-be assassin, then lashed
assassin favoured, in order to build out with an armoured foot to send
up a resistance. This precaution him on his way. Unable to anchor
did nothing to numb the poison’s himself, Shadowblade tumbled from
searing pain, but Malekith was well Seraphon’s back and vanished into the
accustomed to agony, and it slowed battle far below.
him not in the slightest.
Drycha’s cruel handmaidens had
Shadowblade’s next strike came a wrought terrible ruin on Alarielle’s
split second after the first, a lightning- forces. The briarmaven had wielded
fast cut intended to slit the armour her sisters like claws, ferociously
at Malekith’s throat. But the Eternity raking the grove-covens still loyal to
King ducked under the blow and out the Everqueen. The broken bodies
of his saddle. Effortlessly finding of dryads littered the approach to
a foothold on Seraphon’s back, he the Everguard, and only Durthu’s
turned to face his assailant, blade at indefatigable presence had kept the
the ready. elves from being overwhelmed.
Malekith saw all this as he retook his The Eternity King hacked left and
saddle, and urged Seraphon to where right, severing tendrils with each
Drycha hissed orders at the other stroke, but more came to restrain
Wildkin. The dragon’s mouth gaped him. Beneath him, Seraphon was
wide as she descended, and a choking dragged lower to the ground as
spume swept over the darting dryads. roots burst from the glade floor to
It could not choke the forest spirits, aid the vines. Still hacking, Malekith
for they did not breathe as mortals sought to counter Drycha’s magics.
did. Nonetheless, its thick, toxic However, Shadowblade’s poison was
fumes ate away at the dryads’ bodies, at last beginning to numb his senses.
poisoning the sap within their veins. This, taken alongside the fact that
Dozens perished in agony, eaten away the briarmaven’s fulsome wrath lay
both outside and in by Seraphon’s behind every cantrip of her spell,
black breath. Those that survived meant that Malekith could find no
were scattered a heartbeat later, crack to exploit within it. A moment
when Seraphon slammed down like later, Drycha was upon him, slashing
a thunderbolt, crunching the delicate and stabbing at the trammelled
dryads like twigs. Eternity King.

Drycha saw her sisters perish, and With Malekith occupied by Drycha’s
sprang towards Malekith. As the fury, and Alarielle falling back before
briarmaven did so, she reached out Hellebron, Be’lakor at last joined the
to the magics of the forest, breathing battle. Stepping through the shadows
new life into the fallen. Green shoots on the glade’s boundary, he swooped
burst forth from crushed and soot- low across the battle, rejoicing in
black bodies. Seasons of growth the terror his appearance instilled.
passed in an eye-blink as shoots grew Some elves reacted quicker than
into vines which wound and wended others, sending arrows and bolts
about Seraphon’s limbs. The dragon speeding across the sky towards the
tore free, but more tendrils whipped First-damned. However, Be’lakor
out to snare her, then slithered further was a creature of shadow, his form
up to seize Malekith. uncertain even under the noon-day
sun. Only a single lucky arrow hit
its mark, and this Be’lakor tore free
without slowing his advance. As
the daemon landed before the oak,
cloaked rangers threw themselves at
him, glaives gleaming. Be’lakor left
them twitching in a heap with a single
sweep of his shadow-sword, and
pressed on to claim his prize.
For Be’lakor, it was a moment of Be’lakor’s laughter grew louder as the from those they had fought. Alas,
triumph. He could feel the power of Weave trembled. Already, he could repentance was a coin of poor
the Oak of Ages pulsing before him, feel the gaze of the gods drawing currency that day, and most perished
could see how it could be twisted towards him, lured by the corruption all the same. Hellebron alone felt no
and unmade. At last, the Dark Gods he wrought. Hungrily, he burrowed remorse. However, seeing only defeat
would have to pay him heed once deeper, spreading his foul shadow in the moments that followed, she
more. Even if they did not, the plan of further and faster – too fast, for had abandoned her throne, fleeing the
Archaon the pretender would be pre- the First-damned been about his sacred glade with a vow of revenge
empted, his moment of glory usurped. work more cautiously, he might not upon her lips.
With a sibilant cackle of victory, the have been taken unawares by what
First-damned sank his talons deep happened next. Be’lakor would have fled then and
into the tree’s venerable flesh. Tiny there, had he not heard the laughter
spiderwebs of darkness spread out Suddenly, a brilliant light shone of the gods in his mind. Their
from the wounds, worming their way through the Oak of Ages’ flesh, a light mockery, and the wrath it awoke
deeper into the Oak of Ages. so powerful that Be’lakor’s shadow within him, drove him to stand his
tendrils withered before it. At once, ground against Tyrion. Shadow-
the Weave fought to rebalance itself, magic streamed from the First-
the tremors faded and the skies began damned’s fingers, summoning blades
to clear. to tear at his opponent’s flesh, and
illusions to assail his mind. It was a
With a scream, Be’lakor ripped his fearsome assault, one that would have
talons free of the bark, but the light staggered the Tyrion of old, but the
did not fade. Rather, it grew brighter. Dragon of Cothique was far more than
Steam rose from the First-damned’s he had once been.
skin as the light fell upon it, tiny fires
raging across his unholy flesh. As Before he had died, Tyrion had
the daemon reeled away, the Oak of been consumed by the curse of his
Ages’ trunk unfurled like a blossoming bloodline. Now, through the latent
flower. Through slitted eyes, Be’lakor magics of Ariel’s divine bones and
saw a tall-helmed knight framed the Heart of Avelorn’s magic, he had
At once, the Weave screamed, and the against the blinding light. For a been reborn – had been reunited with
world shuddered in response. The sky moment, they stared at one another, his old sword, and his faithful steed
darkened, and the ground rumbled the silhouette and the shadow Malhandir. The Flame of Ulric, which
in pain. All across the Eternal Glade, daemon. Then a sword of rippling fire Teclis had stolen from Middenheim,
the forest spirits’ strength ebbed, blazed forth against the light, there gave Tyrion strength. The Wind
and those not already insane from was a thunder of hooves, and Prince of Light, whose power Teclis had
the Weave’s imbalance felt madness Tyrion charged headlong at Be’lakor. husbanded until this moment, had
crowd close about their minds. transformed him into something more
Drycha tore her attention away from Many an eye turned to witness what than a mere warrior. Tyrion was now
her duel, saw Be’lakor clutching like a occurred at the Oak of Ages, but the Incarnate of Light, and his very
leech at the Oak of Ages. At last, the few knew exactly what they beheld. being was anathema to the servants
bitterness of millennia gave way to the The remaining daemonettes sensed, of the Chaos Gods.
realisation of how she had been used. rather than saw, the cleansing light
Malekith forgotten, the briarmaven that had come to the battlefield, and Sunfang blazed bright, tearing
launched herself towards the Oak of felt an unfamiliar fear. At once, they through Be’lakor’s enchantments, and
Ages, the cage of vines and roots that turned and fled, leaving Be’lakor to deep into the First-damned’s flesh.
held the Eternity King collapsing as stand alone. Most others saw a blaze Be’lakor caught the second stroke on
her concentration was bent elsewhere. of light surging towards Be’lakor’s his shadow-blade, but he knew that
She made it two steps before the retreating form. Where it passed, the battle was lost. His allies were
Eternity King’s sword took her head. madness fled from the minds of forest routed or slain, and he could feel his
As Seraphon tore free of the remaining spirits and elves, from Wildkin and skin smouldering simply from Tyrion’s
vines and took wing towards Be’lakor, cultist alike. The former shrank away presence. Spitting a curse that owed
Malekith snorted. Drycha’s intent had into the forest, thoughts awhirl with as much to humiliation as to pain, the
been plain enough, but he had no the catastrophe that they had so First-damned fled into the shadows,
desire to embrace such an unreliable nearly unleashed. The cultists fell trying to ignore the laughter of the
ally, even in so dark an hour. to their knees, begging forgiveness gods as it echoed through his mind.

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Chapter 3 | 135
 Victory had been won, but few felt it whilst his monarchs had stood on north. His light had dimmed once the
a triumph. The defenders had suffered the precipice of defeat. Those who battle had ended, its power drawn
greatly. Fully half of those who had fought at Imrik’s side would thereafter once more into his soul until it was
taken up arms alongside Malekith tell how the prince’s wrath had only needed again. No cheers had greeted
and Alarielle had fallen. More would deepened when he saw the twisted Tyrion’s return, no welcome for a hero
have perished had the Everqueen not flesh-gate that had once been Naieth. long lost – the wounds he had caused
walked amongst the wounded for long The daemons were brought to one as the Avatar of Khaine went too
hours afterwards, giving of her own last furious battle amidst the glade deep for that. In truth, Tyrion could
life-power to restore others. Few of that had been the prophetess’ home, remember little of the weeks before
the survivors took satisfaction in the and Naieth’s remains were burned his death. Every memory was clouded
slaughter they had wrought. Save for amongst the ashes of the trees. in blood and shadow, leaving only
the vile daemons, the dead had all vague and horrible recollections.
been kin, either sons and daughters There was, however, reason for joy
of Aenarion, or children of the great amongst the sorrow. The Weave had Tyrion knew there were hooded
forest. That they had fallen into stabilised in the wake of Be’lakor’s figures upon the edge of the clearing,
madness was the greatest tragedy, for defeat. It was not wholly recovered, or could see the glint of arrows trained
their strength would be sorely missed even nearly so, but the tipping point on his heart. Once, he would have
in the days to come. was now further away than it had taken furious offence at being treated
been for many days. The Oak of Ages thus, but death and resurrection had
Prince Imrik led reinforcements to too was somewhat recovered from brought him a calm he had never
the Eternal Glade soon after Be’lakor Be’lakor’s grasp. The light of Tyrion’s before known. There was nothing to
had fled. Malekith would have gladly rebirth had done much to purge the be gained by conflict with his own
led them in pursuit of the surviving tree’s corruption, and spellweavers kind. So it was that Tyrion waited in
daemons. However, he was amongst laboured long after to cure what silence as his destiny unfolded.
those in need of the Everqueen’s remained. As was too often the case
touch – even his will could not in those dark days, they could not As for Be’lakor, he had vanished
keep the effects of Shadowblade’s entirely undo what had been done, into the shadows of the forest, his
poison at bay forever. Thus did and this small failure sat ill alongside cunning mind already working to
Imrik harry the daemonettes back to the good they had achieved. retrieve something from the disaster.
the rift they had used to reach the Archaon’s plan was growing near to
Eternal Glade. The prince fought as As night fell, Tyrion remained apart fruition, but there was still time for
one possessed, furious at himself from the other elves, and sat alone the First-damned to pre-empt the
for having been delayed elsewhere in a clearing to the Eternal Glade’s arrogant mortal.

A rchaon entered the gloomy chamber for the fifth

time in as many days. As ever, a coven of robed
cultists were gathered around the warp-artefact. They
surface, and strange lightning earthing through the
golden metal.
‘Can we proceed?’ Archaon asked again, allowing a
were muttering incantations that the Everchosen knew hint of menace to creep into his tone.
to be more theatrical than mystic. Not one of them had The sorcerer jerked his body upright in order to meet
noted Archaon’s arrival. Archaon’s gaze. ‘If the Dark Gods will it.’
‘Can we proceed?’ Archaon asked, his deep voice Beneath his helm, Archaon’s lips twisted into a sneer.
echoing from the polished walls. The sorcerer was a devout believer, as narrow and
The cult’s sorcerer, his status betrayed by his golden blinkered as the Ulricans who had called Middenheim
mask, hastened across the carpet of broken stone. Upon their home. Pathetic.
reaching Archaon’s side, he bowed obsequiously, the ‘Wake it,’ Archaon commanded. ‘The gods grow
hooked nose of his mask almost scraping the rocky floor. impatient, and so do I.’
‘It stirs to life.’ Without looking up, the sorcerer ‘An offering of souls will be needed,’ the sorcerer
extended an arm towards the centre of the chamber. ‘See warned him.
how it shines.’ ‘Then make it. The excavation is complete, but the
Archaon stared directly at the warp-artefact, seeking slaves can still serve the gods.’
some change. His mortal eyes saw nothing out of the ‘As can we all,’ the sorcerer put in, earning another
ordinary, merely a glistening black globe hung between unseen sneer.
two golden hemispheres. But when he looked with Archaon strode from the chamber without another
the Eye of Sheerian, he saw colours pulsing across its word. The end was near.

136 | Chapter 3
Whilst Tyrion waited beyond the naught but dust, and the memories of of magic in which her daughter could
Eternal Glade’s bounds, what his deeds in Ulthuan hung heavy on grow into her divine power, and one
remained of Malekith’s inner council her mind. day create an existence beyond the
gathered beneath the Oak of Ages. reach of Chaos. It was a dream worth
War had taken its toll on the council, Teclis still had his own doubts about dying for – worth sacrificing for – and
just as it had on the forest as a whole. the path he had followed, but buried Lileath would see that those sacrifices
Many had been slain in Athel Loren’s them deep. He explained that it were made. The countless thousands
defence, but those who remained had always been Tyrion’s destiny who had perished to this point were
were amongst the mightiest heroes to become the Incarnate of Light. as nothing to those who would die in
of Athel Loren. Malekith, Alarielle However, had that fate come to pass the hopeless wars to come. She said
and Durthu had already been present whilst the Curse of Aenarion was in none of this, of course, but spoke
in the Eternal Glade. As midnight Tyrion’s blood, the power would have quietly and calmly of unity. Whatever
approached, Imrik, Lileath and Alith been slaved to the will of Khaine, or Tyrion had done in the past, she
Anar joined them. to even darker gods. Thus it had been reminded the council, he would surely
necessary to set Tyrion on a path be needed again as he had been
Malekith also instructed Teclis to join that would allow the curse to exhaust needed today.
the gathering, though there was less itself. Without the Incarnates, Teclis
honour in the invitation than there argued, there could be no chance of Only Alith Anar said nothing, as was
was distrust. The mage had emerged victory in the Rhana Dandra. his wont. His presence on the council
soon after Be’lakor had fled – much was neither to advise, nor to serve.
to Alarielle’s obvious delight and He attended only to watch for signs
Malekith’s equally obvious suspicion. of Malekith returning to his old ways.
Both had thought Teclis lost in Tyrion’s fate was nothing to him.
the ruin of Ulthuan, but where the
Everqueen interpreted his return as a Mortal though she now was, Lileath’s
portent of good fortune, the Eternity word still carried weight, even with
King saw only confirmation that he Malekith. In the end, Tyrion was
had been manipulated by the mage. brought before the inner council and
As soon as the council had convened, humbly bent his knee to the king and
the Eternity King demanded an queen. However, even a blind man
explanation from Teclis. would have seen the tension that
remained. To Imrik, it was obvious
Malekith’s concerns were assuaged enough. Malekith feared that Alarielle
only somewhat by Teclis’ assertion Those who heard Teclis speak were and Tyrion would soon conspire to
that Tyrion would make no attempt appalled – all save two. Malekith was steal his crown, whilst to Alarielle,
to claim kingship of the elves, that quietly impressed that the mage had Tyrion’s hands were indelibly stained
his brother desired only to fight to enacted such a ruthless plan, that with the blood of too many friends.
preserve his people from the Rhana Teclis had sacrificed thousands of Most notable of all, in Imrik’s mind,
Dandra. The Eternity King trusted his kinsfolk – his own niece amongst was how few words passed between
Tyrion’s motives even less than he did them – in order to fulfil his goals. It Tyrion and Teclis. Once the closest of
Teclis’, and deemed such assurances was so audacious as to garner the kin, it seemed that the prince had not
to be worthless. In this, he was mage a newfound – and wholly alien forgiven his brother’s manipulations.
far from alone. Imrik and Durthu – respect from the Eternity King, For his part, Imrik didn’t much care.
remembered all too well the war though Teclis would have been little The dragon prince had long ago
fought against the Avatar of Khaine, pleased to learn of it. placed the defence of his people above
recounted sins that far outweighed all other concerns. The suspicions and
the good that Tyrion had done that Lileath too remained unmoved by wounded feelings of his allies were of
day. Even Alarielle, whose beloved Teclis’ account, chiefly because little concern.
consort Tyrion had once been, the plan he had enacted was hers.
could bring herself to say little in his Moreover, she knew what Teclis did Neither feasting nor celebration
defence. She had gifted him the Heart not: the Rhana Dandra could not be followed the council’s conclusion,
of Avelorn out of love, even knowing won – the Incarnates existed only to just a night of fitful slumber. Not
that same love would be consumed distract and weaken the Chaos Gods all sought rest. Tyrion and Alarielle
if the gem’s magic were ever called so that the Haven might survive. She strayed far from their Eternal Glade,
upon. The feelings the Everqueen had could still feel its presence beyond conversing in whispered tones until
once possessed for Tyrion were now the veil of the mortal world, a realm dawn lightened the eastern skies.

Chapter 3 | 137
 No one ever learned of the words sensing events slipping out of his At Alarielle’s instruction, Teclis then
that passed between them that night, grasp, was gripped by a rare moment explained once again how he had
although those that encountered the of indecision. It was therefore at broken the Great Vortex, had sought
queen soon after their parting marked Alarielle’s order that the dryads to create Incarnates mighty enough to
the tightness about her eyes, and the slunk back into the trees, and the oppose the Chaos Gods. Gelt nodded
coldness of her expression. elves lowered their weapons. In a silently at this, as if a long wrestled-
cold and clear voice, the Everqueen with puzzle had suddenly found its
The next morning, Caradryan led spoke of a world greatly changed in solution. The wizard interrupted,
a weary column – the survivors of a short time, of how old distrusts asking what had become of the Wind
Esdari Corrin – into the Eternal Grove. and enmities would have to be of Death and the Wind of Beasts.
Blades were unsheathed and protests abandoned. She bade that the Teclis hesitated before answering,
uttered at the captain’s temerity. intruders be welcomed as guests and then explained that Shyish had been
To allow humans – and worse yet, valued allies, and thanked Caradryan stolen long before he had destroyed
dwarfs – into the most sanctified for bringing them to the Eternal the Great Vortex, and admitted that
corner of Athel Loren was sacrilegious Glade. Many of the elves looked Ghur was lost to his sight. Until they
in the extreme. Dryads crowded close to Malekith for confirmation of the were recovered, or their bearers
about the intruders, alert for any Everqueen’s words. At first, they saw convinced of the need to oppose
betrayal that would justify an attack. none. Then the Eternity King, his Chaos, the power of the Incarnates
Arrows were nocked, ready to fly. mood unreadable, gave a stiff nod would remain scattered.
and affirmed his queen’s decision. So
It would have taken little for a enrapt were all at this sight, that none Duke Jerrod heard little of what was
costly and calamitous battle to saw the brief nod of understanding said at the council. His attention
erupt. Though not given overmuch that passed between Tyrion and the was given solely to Lileath, whose
to speech, even with his oath to Emperor. None, that is, save ever- likeness had struck a chord within
Asuryan lifted, Caradryan had tersely watchful Alith Anar, who wondered him that he could not identify. He
impressed the need for caution what it portended. did not know that she had once also
upon the Averheim refugees – a been Ladrielle, the blessed Lady of
sentiment that the Emperor, Gelt and Thus was a second council soon held Bretonnia. For her part, Lileath made
Hammerson had all been quick to upon the site of the first, one that no attempt to enlighten him. Of all
reinforce. Jerrod and his knights lasted long into dusk. The Emperor those she had used to ensure the
required no warning. Athel Loren was spoke of Averheim’s fall, and of the Haven’s creation, the Bretonnians had
the stuff of legend to the Bretonnians, despoiling of the Empire that had suffered the worst, with their entire
and few of those tales ended well for preceded it. As shrewd a diplomat society fashioned into a weapon to
intruders. Thus, despite provocation, as ever, he was most generous in his be wielded or discarded at will. As a
swords stayed sheathed and axes praise of Jerrod and Hammerson, and goddess, Lileath had thought nothing
shouldered as Caradryan spoke of the spoke at length of the sacrifice made of such manipulations. As a mortal,
battle at Esdari Corrin. by Ungrim Ironfist and his slayers. she was discomfited by what she had
done, despite its necessity.
In truth, little needed to be said. In return, Alarielle spoke of the war
Alarielle, Malekith and Tyrion all felt that had shattered Ulthuan, and of It was one thing, however, to
that Caradryan and Gelt now each the perils that beset Athel Loren and understand the events that had led
commanded power not dissimilar to the Weave. All of this she recounted them all to that point, and quite
their own. Moreover, they could sense in careful terms, never once resorting another to determine what was to be
the lingering essence of Azyr mantled to falsehood, but sparing all present done next. And it seemed that there
upon the Emperor’s shoulders. These from certain details. She did not was to be little opportunity for such
were three of the four winds that mention Tyrion’s role in Ulthuan’s discussion. As dusk drew night, swift-
had escaped Teclis’ grasp during the downfall, only of the Avatar of Khaine winged warhawk riders came from the
Great Vortex’s unmaking. That their as if he were a separate being. No mountains. They carried word of an
Incarnates had come to Athel Loren account was given of the myriad unnatural darkness sweeping down
– and so soon after Tyrion’s return – betrayals that had dogged the elves, from the east, of an army of the dead
lent credence to Teclis’ and Lileath’s of which Hellebron’s was the most approaching Athel Loren’s borders.
talk of destiny. recent. Such matters Alarielle judged
too shameful to share with outsiders, The elves reacted at once. The Weave
For what seemed an age, the elves and it seemed no other member of the of the great forest was already
stared in silence at the dwarfs and council disagreed with her, for none imbalanced – were unnatural undead
humans in their midst. Malekith, sought to offer correction. to tread beneath its boughs, the

138 | Chapter 3
victory over Be’lakor would have
been for nothing. The inner council
departed within minutes of the
M annfred von Carstein made no attempt at concealment as he
guided Ashigaroth towards the motley battle line that had formed
on the forest’s edge. Though he was loathe to admit it, his spells of
messengers’ arrival, taking with shrouding would have done little to fool the mages and wizards waiting
them whatever troops were fit to below. Instead, he would have to trust to his opponents’ curiosity, and
march. Though weary, the Emperor misplaced sense of decency, to keep him from harm.
and Gelt accompanied them, and the It seemed the vampire’s faith had not been in vain. Neither arrow,
Zhufbarak, disliking the idea of being bullet nor spell assailed him as Ashigaroth’s talons fixed upon a boulder
abandoned in the heart of an elven in front of the line of shields. For a moment, Mannfred revelled in the
stronghold, went also. sensation of hundreds of eyes watching him, of the poorly-concealed
fear of the living.
Led down hidden paths by silent ‘Speak your piece, abomination, and begone... or be destroyed.’ It was
waywatchers, the six Incarnates Malekith who had spoken, the words rendered strangely metallic by
arrived on the edge of Wydrioth as his armour’s death mask. There was no fear in the elf-king’s voice, no
the army of the dead approached. apprehension – there was no prey here, after all.
Hurriedly, battle lines were drawn. Mannfred’s disappointment mixed with relief. To treat with the living
Banners of all colours and designs was distasteful enough – to have bargained with prey would have been
were raised together, as for the unacceptable. Even so, when he next spoke, Mannfred could barely keep
first time in who knew how many the distaste from his voice.
generations, elves, dwarfs and men ‘Great Nagash, Eternal Sovereign of all Nehekhara, Lord of the
prepared to fight as one. Underworld and Supreme Lord of the Undead...’ he paused, the next
words sour on his tongue, ‘...wishes to parley.’
Before them advanced a bleak host,
an army of worm-picked bone and
tattered wings, of baleful witchfires
gleaming like will-o’-the-wisps in
the dark. The dead spilled down
the mountainside in silence, every
step precise and guided by the same
suffocating will that had drowned the
mountainside. Nagash had come to
Athel Loren.
CHAPTER 4
On the Edge of the Abyss
Autumn 2528
 A week after Nagash’s he reminded them all, and there mind, a reminder of what she had
arrival, a council of the was precious little time to squander fought and sacrificed for. She knew
Incarnates was held through infighting. that if the Incarnates did not unite,
in King’s Glade. It was the Chaos Gods would consume the
an uneasy affair, to say the least. Malekith had lapsed into a dangerous world all the sooner, then turn their
However much they might have striven silence following the Emperor’s words. attentions to the Haven. Desperate to
to conceal it from the outsiders, the Teclis, fearing the collapse of his gain sway, Lileath invoked her divine
ill faith that lay between the elven grand design, took the opportunity heritage as both Lileath of the Moon,
Incarnates still remained. Moreover, to remind his allies that it had only and as Ladrielle of the Veil. However,
none of the elves truly trusted Gelt, or been Nagash’s theft of death magic it achieved little, save from a
the Emperor. And, of course, no one that had made the creation of the garnering a sharp look from Mannfred
trusted Nagash. other Incarnates possible. He stated von Carstein. A chance study long
a belief that the Great Necromancer ago had taught him a secret about
During that first encounter on the was as necessary now as he had been Ladrielle, and thus, with Lileath’s
bleak mountainside seven days earlier, then. Yet even Teclis could see that declaration, one about her also.
it had been obvious that Nagash’s his words had done little to convince
army, whilst vast, was no match for the others. The memories of his own Nagash remained silent as the
the Incarnates and their allies. The betrayals were too recent. mortals argued over his fate. He
banners of the dead had been thick found it nothing short of amusing that
amongst the crags, but by no means Malekith had countered with the the elves chose to bicker amongst
thick enough. Furthermore, the notion that the Wind of Death was all themselves whilst their armies stood
Great Necromancer was no longer a that was truly needed. Nagash could arrayed for war, but made no attempt
preeminent being – too much of his be slain, he suggested, and Shyish to speed matters along. None sought
might had been lost with the Black bound to another, more tractable to address him, and he made no
Pyramid. Though the power of death creature. Gotri Hammerson, who argument of his own. Nor did he allow
had magnified his might, his was knew a good many of the grudges either Arkhan or Mannfred to speak
still no match for the six Incarnates the dwarfs held against Nagash, had for him. The Great Necromancer’s
arrayed against him. Even taking into nodded in slow concord. That was, pride still chafed that he had needed
account that the Emperor no longer until he caught himself displaying to seek an alliance at all, but the
commanded the power of Azyr, it agreement with Malekith, whose wound was ameliorated somewhat
was plain that Nagash would lose the own transgressions could have filled by the consternation provoked by
battle, if one occurred. whole libraries. his arrival. Nagash had possessed
every confidence that the living would
Of course, Nagash’s weakness Teclis countered by saying that no reluctantly agree to an alliance. It
had been taken by many not as an being capable of containing so much was unthinkable to Nagash that the
opportunity for alliance, but as a death magic would be any more mortals’ own petty principles could
chance to scour him from the face trustworthy than Nagash. Malekith possibly be a barrier where his own
of the world. Malekith had been then suggested that Duke Jerrod, as deathless pride had not. Thus had the
forcefully of this opinion, with Gelt de facto ruler of an obliterated realm, Great Necromancer found no reason
scarcely less vocal. Caradryan was a more than suitable candidate to to argue for his fate. Inevitability had
remained silent throughout, though mantle the power of death. Jerrod could no need for an advocate.
this surprised no one. Alarielle and have struck Malekith down at that
Tyrion seemed undecided at first – moment – or more likely died in the In his arrogance, it did not occur to
certainly the latter had learnt much attempt – had not Lileath intervened. Nagash that his aloof superiority only
about the relative value of evil in The goddess-made-mortal defused the made his opponents more determined
recent years – though neither made duke’s anger with a few simple words, to see him humbled. As the long
any effort to still Malekith’s diatribe. though afterward Jerrod could not minutes crept by, it became clear that
Both the Everqueen and her estranged recall exactly what she had said. Malekith’s unstoppable rhetoric was
lover knew only too well that Nagash’s winning over the other Incarnates.
return had been brought about Lileath too had argued that those Nagash felt a flicker of frustration,
through the death of their daughter, assembled should at least allow but it soon passed. This possibility
Aliathra. Only the Emperor had dared Nagash the opportunity to prove his had been foreseen, and a contingency
interrupt the Eternity King to argue trustworthiness. Her words had little prepared. Stirring from his silence,
that Nagash’s aid was vital to their more impact than Teclis’, but the the Great Necromancer addressed his
survival. The last bastions of the goddess did not give up. The Haven fellow Incarnates, and offered them a
uncorrupted world were crumbling, was an ever-present echo in Lileath’s gift they could not refuse.

142 | Chapter 4
‘Y OUR FEAR IS WITHOUT CAUSE. THE
WORD OF NAGASH IS INVIOLATE.’
Mannfred watched as the other Incarnates fell silent at
tone failing to disguise the fragility beneath.
‘We will not bargain for Aliathra’s soul,’ Tyrion
stated, his voice laden with threat.
the Great Necromancer’s words. ‘I DO NOT SEEK TO DO SO. SHE IS ALREADY
Predictably, Malekith was first to speak. ‘Any betrayer FODDER FOR THE DARK PRINCE.’
would say the same, if it suited his purpose.’ That particular twist of the knife was skilfully done,
‘INDEED. AND SO I OFFER A GIFT, A TOKEN OF thought Mannfred.
MY INTENT.’ ‘INSTEAD, I OFFER YOU THE ARCHITECT OF
The Eternity King laughed without humour. ‘A HER DEATH, TO DO WITH AS YOU WILL.’
gift granted by one such as you or I can hardly be Mannfred felt his spirits rise. Arkhan had slain the
considered proof of anything.’ Everchild in order to bring about Nagash’s rebirth. Now
Mannfred frowned. Nagash had not spoken of offering he understood why Neferata had been granted rule of
a gift. The vampire shot a look at Arkhan, but the liche’s Sylvania. Nagash had known that he would have to
expressionless face gave up no secrets. offer Arkhan to the elves, and intended for Mannfred to
‘INDEED,’ Nagash repeated, but this time Mannfred become his new right hand.
fancied there was a touch of dark humour in the tone. A moment later, Mannfred felt a sharp pain as
‘I HAVE WRONGED YOU. YET THE INITIAL Ashigaroth flung him from his saddle. Before he
OFFENCE WAS NOT AT MY INSTIGATION.’ could rise, Nagash uttered a single doleful word, and
Mannfred saw Malekith move to speak, then fall a glowing amethyst cocoon encased the vampire.
silent as Alarielle pressed forward. ‘You speak of my Mannfred von Carstein’s last thought was to curse
daughter?’ the Everqueen asked, the stridency of her himself for a fool.

Nagash’s sacrifice of Mannfred Nagash was kept on a short leash

had been carefully judged. None throughout. Two of the other
of the elves were aware that it had Incarnates and a heavy escort of
been Arkhan who had actually sisters of the thorn accompanied
slain Aliathra, but they all knew him wherever he travelled. However,
that Mannfred had captured and he made no attempt to break the
tortured the Everchild. As Nagash had restrictions placed upon him, and
expected, the gift of the cocooned seldom so much as spoke. On one
vampire shifted the balance of opinion. occasion, he rendered a roving
Tyrion and Alarielle, glad to gain a beastman warherd to ashen dust
measure of justice for their daughter’s before his escort could even raise the
demise, decreed that they were hue and cry. Alarielle had offered her
prepared to give Nagash some small reluctant thanks for this deed, but
benefit of the doubt. Their decision Nagash made no acknowledgement.
marked the turning point. Malekith It had been less a gesture of goodwill,
and Gelt reluctantly agreed to consider and more a reminder that even the
an alliance of necessity. powers of life and death could unite
against an enemy that threatened
Thus was Nagash permitted to walk them both.
beneath the eaves of Athel Loren. Only
Arkhan was permitted to accompany
Nagash – Arkhan, and one other
who arrived, hooded and cloaked, a
day later. Krell and the remainder of
the Great Necromancer’s army were
forbidden from passing the forest’s
bounds, and were instructed to wait
upon the mountainside where they
remained under heavy watch day
and night. To do otherwise would
have only brought another potentially
hostile force into a realm already
beset by them.
 As for Mannfred, when his cocoon at
last faded away, he had found himself
held fast in a cage of living roots deep
T he heavy oaken doors of Middenheim’s defiled temple burst open.
The sound of splintering wood boomed through the chamber, only
to be drowned out by a thunderous voice.
beneath the Eternal Glade. Such were ‘What callow mockery is this?’ Ka’Bandha roared.
the enchantments placed upon the One of the Swords of Chaos, trapped at the Bloodthirster’s feet by the
prison that the vampire could not door’s inward swing, tried to crawl free from the timber’s dead weight.
even muster the smallest of spells. Ka’Bandha saw the movement and, with a growling sneer, slammed a
Worse, Mannfred could feel his power hoof down, pulping the knight’s helm and the skull beneath.
draining away as the Oak of Ages fed The scrape of steel upon steel rang out across the chamber as black-
upon his undead bones, siphoning armoured figures bore down upon the Bloodthirster.
the magics that sustained him, and Archaon uttered no word, but simply raised a gauntleted fist. At once,
transmuting them into new and the Swords of Chaos retreated to their positions around the chamber’s
vibrant growth in the forest above. perimeter, but their weapons remained ready.
The process was as gradual as it was ‘You forget your place, daemon,’ Archaon intoned, rising from his
agonising, and Mannfred realised it throne. He had expected this confrontation. Indeed, it was vital to his
would take many hundreds of years plans. ‘I am the Everchosen, and your lord’s instrument upon this world.
to drain him to a withered husk. Even Would you approach his throne thus?’
through his rage at his predicament, ‘You are but a mortal speck,’ Ka’Bandha snarled. ‘I serve you only so
the vampire had to admit the cruel long as you lead us to slaughter. I do not stand as overseer to slaves.’
ingenuity of Alarielle’s revenge. ‘Those wretches toil in the gods’ cause. What is hidden beneath this
city will spill more blood than all the axes ever forged. For that, we
To Mannfred’s surprise, no elf came need slaves, many slaves; unless the great Ka’Bandha fancies the task of
to gloat over his torment – certainly excavation for himself?’
he would have done so had positions ‘I WILL NOT BE MOCKED!’
been reversed. He thus had no The Bloodthirster’s axe flashed out, splitting a pillar in two. Stone and
opportunity to lay the blame for dust cascaded down as part of the ceiling collapsed. Archaon stood his
Aliathra’s murder on Arkhan – not ground as Ka’Bandha advanced to the throne, the daemon’s rumbling
that anyone would have believed him. breath rank in his nostrils.
He did not spend his days entirely ‘I am fulfilling your lord’s wishes,’ Archaon said, driving his full force
alone, however. of will behind every word. ‘If you doubt that, then strike me down. We
shall see if Khorne rewards or punishes you.’
On the second day of Mannfred’s Ka’Bandha snarled and took a step backwards. He would not kneel,
confinement, a tall and haughty Archaon knew the daemon to be too proud for that, but the Everchosen cared
shadow stole into his root-bound little for such displays. Only obedience mattered – obedience, and victory.
chamber. Vlad offered no word. ‘Blood must flow,’ Ka’Bandha growled.
Instead, he merely held up his right ‘And so it does. Only the elven forest-realm yet stands, and that
hand so that Mannfred could plainly matters little.’
see the grave-gold of the Carstein ‘The Emperor escaped you.’
Ring, which had restored the elder Archaon shook his head, disdain creeping in his voice. ‘As a ruler
vampire to life as it had many of a realm, he was a threat. As an embodiment of the heavens, he was
times before. With a brief smile of certainly a worthy foe. Now he is but a man. His power is gone, his
satisfaction, Vlad left as swiftly as he armies are gone. He is beaten. The Dark Gods have given me the victory
had come. Mannfred’s howls of rage I craved, and now I shall deliver theirs, as I promised.’
could be heard in the glade above for ‘It is a mistake to think him defeated,’ Ka’Bandha rumbled. ‘His skull
many hours afterwards. belongs to Khorne.’
Archaon laughed, drawing satisfaction from how the daemon’s eyes
Be’lakor was still licking his wounds narrowed at the sound. The Bloodthirster suspected mockery, but he
in the shadows of the deepwoods doubted that the brute sensed how he was being manipulated. Archaon
when he heard Mannfred’s wrath wanted Karl Franz slain, but he dared not test the Dark Gods’ patience
upon the wind. The First-damned had by delaying any further. But now Ka’Bandha had broached the topic...
recognised that Athel Loren was fast ‘Very well,’ the Everchosen said at last. ‘The Emperor’s life is yours
becoming a locus for great events, to take. Khorne may have his skull, but I shall have his flayed skin for
though what they were, he still hadn’t my throne. Promise me this, and I will release you from your duties
fathomed. Be’lakor was certain that in Middenheim.’
there was something upon the breeze ‘Your pact is agreed,’ Ka’Bandha bit out. Archaon wondered briefly if the
that he could turn to his advantage. other suspected how he had been used. ‘The Blood Hunt will ride out.’

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 Far to the west of Mannfred’s at the pinnacle of his physical and world to its fate. Tyrion’s own desire
prison, the council of the Incarnates mental acuity, and comported himself – to ride out and challenge Archaon’s
continued. After long consideration in so courteous and elegant a manner hordes, and retake the Old World –
– and no small amount of persuasion that few believed the evidence of their was soundly dismissed as impractical
by Alarielle – Malekith had permitted eyes and ears. However, Vlad had by Gelt and the Emperor. They alone
a select number of non-Incarnates always been a creature of the civilised had witnessed the true scale of the
to enter the verdant brilliance of world, and those who were surprised Everchosen’s armies, and were certain
King’s Glade. Alarielle had argued at his refinement had forgotten – or that such a thing could not be done.
that power would serve them poorly did not know – the life and unlife that
without wisdom to guide it, and had brought him to Athel Loren. Alarielle advocated infusing Athel
that wisdom was not the exclusive Loren itself with the Incarnates’
province of the Incarnates. Malekith Hammerson, by contrast, was ever power, so that it might once again
was growing weary of his every gruff and plain-spoken – direct, even echo the splendour of ancient days.
decision being open to question, but to the point of rudeness. The dwarf Such a course, she argued, would
acceded nonetheless. had readily allied himself with the make Athel Loren itself a power equal
Emperor and Gelt, but had thrown his to the Dark Gods, and one which
The elves still held greatest sway lot in with the elves far less readily. could be harnessed to forever end
over that council. In addition to the To fight alongside the undead? That the threat of Chaos. Unsurprisingly,
four elven Incarnates, Teclis, Lileath, was a step he was ill-prepared to Nagash refused to involve himself in
Naestra and Arahan were all present. take. Under other circumstances, the any strategy that would leave him
Imrik had also been invited. Indeed, dwarf’s manner would have been powerless, and life more rampant
his presence was one of the few that unacceptable, but he was far from than ever. However, his counter-
Malekith would have welcomed. alone in his opinions. proposal, of harnessing the power
However, the dragon prince had curtly of the six winds to seize control of
pointed out that someone would have the mindless dead that had walked
to defend the world of today, whilst the earth since his resurrection, was
others discussed the fate of tomorrow, quickly refused. Malekith favoured
and had departed to do just that. For attempting to free forever the mortal
several days thereafter, the sounds world from the Realm of Chaos.
of battle could be heard to the west However, the others saw too much
as Imrik marshalled the elven armies risk in such an endeavour, to say
against marauding beastmen. nothing of the catastrophe that would
likely occur if magic was removed
Other than the elves, there were from the world entirely.
four non-Incarnates at the council,
not counting the denuded Emperor. Back and forth the arguments raged,
Arkhan sat at Nagash’s right hand, with none of the Incarnates ready
and Vlad von Carstein at his left. to yield to their fellows. In truth,
Gotri Hammerson represented the council’s disagreements were
the Zhufbarak, and thus the grounded in more than strategy.
dwarfs, whilst Duke Jerrod served Thus, it was one thing to forge such Each Incarnate knew that whatever
as emissary for the handful of an assemblage, and quite another to course of action was taken would
surviving Bretonnians. Of these, only have it agree on a course of action. tacitly declare which amongst them
Hammerson and the vampire ever had Teclis and Lileath argued that the fate would lead from that moment on, and
much to contribute. of the eighth wind should be sought not one amongst them was ready to
out before any action was taken, but cede that power. Even Caradryan,
To a degree, Vlad appeared distinctly could get no other to concur. Gelt loyal servant that he was, could not
out of place in King’s Glade, his and Hammerson argued that the offer his support to one of Malekith,
dead flesh surrounded by the lush council’s first task should be to make Alarielle or Tyrion, knowing that to do
and verdant splendour of Athel contact with those dwarf holds that so was to defy the others.
Loren. However peculiar the vampire had sealed themselves beneath the
might have looked in that setting, he mountains – an idea that met with The arguments raged for days, with
flourished, nonetheless. Vlad’s sudden Tyrion’s open scorn. Time was short only the barest recesses to attend
death and resurrection had purged enough, the prince said, to waste it to other needs. Sometimes, the
his body of Otto Glott’s blight. As a on seeking the aid of those who had Incarnates strove in polite terms,
result, the vampire was once more already abandoned the rest of the though more often with scarcely-

146 | Chapter 4
concealed anger. Weary from the had no defence against a creature
cyclical debates, Jerrod excused outside their thrall. Lashing out with
himself after the second day, leaving a his shadow-sword, Be’lakor cut the
promise that his knights would serve vampire free. Then, leaving Mannfred
in whatever way they could, once a to find his own way out of the sunken
decision had been reached. The duke halls, the daemon departed to claim
walked alone through Athel Loren’s his prize.
glades, uncaring of the danger he
placed himself in. He knew that the So hungry and desperate had
Lady was with him still, though her Mannfred become in captivity that
voice spoke seldom to him these days. it would have taken a small army to
prevent his escape. Soon he stood in
Meanwhile, Be’lakor journeyed the open air once more, glutted on the
beneath the Eternal Glade. The blood of the kinband that had been set
shadows lay heavy in Mannfred’s to guard him, and eager to repay his
prison, and it was a simple enough for humiliation. Nagash was beyond his
the First-damned to evade the guards reach – at least for now. But Be’lakor,
that had been set about the vampire’s who had thought to make him squirm
cage. Mannfred, who had by now and beg... Be’lakor was another
lapsed into a wary silence, recognised matter. Taking care to stay hidden
the first daemon prince at once. Their from the eyes of spites and spirits,
paths had crossed before, and they Mannfred made his way through the
had seldom parted without a wary great forest.
regard for one another.
Unaware of Mannfred’s intent,
Mannfred demanded that the daemon Be’lakor all but drooled at the
free him from the cage – even prospect of capturing Lileath.
now, the vampire would not resort The blood of a goddess, mortal or
to begging – but Be’lakor merely otherwise, contained no small amount
enquired what reward he could expect of power, and the First-damned
for doing such a thing. The First- intended to claim it for his own.
damned hoped to acquire Mannfred’s Moreover, he knew that thirsting
service, but the vampire was too Slaanesh would offer a great reward
canny to make a slave of himself, for the delicacy of Lileath’s soul.
no matter what blandishments and
gewgaws the daemon offered. He Unfortunately for the daemon, he
did, however, have a fragment of soon learned that Lileath seldom
knowledge to bargain with – one that left the council of the Incarnates,
he had only learned on his arrival at and he did not dare try to seize her
Athel Loren. in the presence of so many beings
whose power rivalled his own. Thus
The vampire spoke of a goddess, the did he wait for a lull in the council’s
last of the elven pantheon, mortal and arguments, and an opportunity.
vulnerable in Athel Loren. Mannfred
saw at once that he had piqued the Whilst Be’lakor waited, Mannfred
daemon’s interest, though Be’lakor acted on knowledge that he had kept
tried to conceal it. Despite his time in concealed from the daemon. Some
Athel Loren, the First-damned had not years ago, a brief alliance with Drycha
recognised Lileath for what she was, had yielded up the information that
and it was a small, sardonic comfort the Lady of Bretonnia was actually
to Mannfred that his own gaze had little more than the elf goddess
proved clearer than the daemon’s. Ladrielle in disguise. When combined
This, then, was the information with the more recent knowledge that
Mannfred traded for his freedom. Ladrielle and Lileath were one and the
The roots that held him were proof same, it offered up a chance for one
against their captive’s magics, but last malevolence.
Thus did Mannfred seek out Jerrod
as he roamed the forest, and came
unarmed before him. The duke drew
his sword as soon as the vampire
revealed himself, but Mannfred was at
his most calculating and persuasive.
With blessed steel at his throat, the
vampire imparted to Jerrod the truth
that the Lady – the whole foundation
of Bretonnia – was nothing more or
less than an elf goddess amusing
herself at the expense of mortal men;
that, in essence, everything that
Jerrod had ever valued was little more
than a lie.

The duke had not believed Mannfred

at first, had accused him of being
a serpent, a liar and worse.
Nevertheless, something prevented
him from ramming his blade home
into the vampire’s throat. Mannfred
was undoubtedly all the things Jerrod
had said of him, and very much more
besides. However, on this occasion,
his words were honest, and that truth
resonated with a feeling that had been
growing in Jerrod’s soul. Lowering
his sword, he bade Mannfred flee and
never to cross his path again.

The vampire, who could in truth have

slain Jerrod and escaped at any time,
did as he was instructed, careful
to keep a smile from his face until
he was far distant. He had divulged
Lileath’s deception with little concern
for the specific consequences – he
simply wanted to prevent Be’lakor
from claiming his prize. Jerrod was
sure to lure Lileath from the council,
in order to seek confirmation of
Mannfred’s words. It was inevitable
that Be’lakor would make his attempt
to claim the goddess – if, of course,
Jerrod didn’t kill her first. Mannfred
didn’t think that terribly likely – the
duke was too infected with honour
for that – but it would make Be’lakor’s
attempt more... interesting.

Even Mannfred recognised the

pettiness of the events he had set in
motion, but he was content that even
this small act of malice would hurt
those who had believed themselves
his superiors. Deeming there to be no
profit in remaining within Athel Loren,
Mannfred fled the forest, employing
A s he reached the shadows of the glade, Be’lakor silently
congratulated himself on his patience. The place was empty, save
for the knight and the goddess. Easier by far to steal her away from one
stealth where he could and savagery mortal than from a group of demigods.
when subtlety would not serve. On Even without the drawn sword, the knight’s anger would have been
the mountains west of Wydrioth, he obvious. His posture was that of an animal ready to pounce. From
passed unnoticed amongst the ranks deep within the shadows, Be’lakor could taste the sweet aromas of the
of Nagash’s waiting army, reclaiming Bretonnian’s anger and despair. By contrast, Lileath’s poise was as cold
Ashigaroth and heading further as ice; calm, collected, and thoroughly unrepentant.
westward still. The vampire’s destiny ‘I do not deny it,’ the goddess’ icy voice matched her chill expression.
had strayed far from the course he ‘I am proud of what I made of your primitive forebears.’
had set it. Betrayed by Nagash, and ‘You used us,’ Jerrod snarled. ‘You pushed us around like pieces on a
with Sylvania lost to him, Mannfred gaming board, then sent the best of us to our deaths. We thought you
could see only one possible chance were our guiding light, but you were a swamp wisp, luring my people to
for survival, though he was loath to our doom.’
take it. Cursing the day he had ever ‘There was no other choice,’ Lileath replied, shaking her head.
thought to resurrect Nagash, the ‘Prophecy was once my gift. I knew of the End Times almost from the
vampire veered northwest, towards first. I needed an army to keep the dark at bay. Asuryan would never
despoiled Middenheim. have countenanced the forging of a new race, not after what was
provoked by the creation of the elves.’ Be’lakor watched her turn away
briefly, then snap back to face the knight again. ‘I chose your forefathers
to serve a greater goal. I gave them purpose. Was that so wrong?
Without the codes and laws that I gave them, your ancestors would have
wiped each other out, or else been trampled into the mud by greenskins.
You all owe me your lives, everything you are. I make no apology for
collecting on that debt.’
The knight gave a low, animal shout that was a mix of anger and
No sooner had Mannfred departed, sorrow. He looked at the sword in his grasp, and at the woman before
than Jerrod went directly to King’s him, plainly tempted to strike her down. Be’lakor’s lips parted in a
Glade, and demanded to speak needle-toothed smile. The human’s despair was sweet on his tongue.
with Lileath. His intrusion provoked Not so for Lileath, if her sudden shift of expression were to be believed.
outrage amongst the elves, but Lileath ‘The world we know is doomed,’ the goddess said, her voice
quickly defused the anger by quietly sorrowful, pleading, ‘but that does not mean that hope is entirely
agreeing to speak with the duke away lost. There is a world – a Haven – where life may yet continue.
from the council. For a moment, Without Bretonnia’s sacrifices, I could not have created it. Surely you
Jerrod was humbled by the goddess- acknowledge that is worth something?’
made-mortal’s grace in the face of Be’lakor hissed with satisfaction. His bargain with Mannfred had
his rudeness. Then he remembered served him well. Not only had it delivered a goddess into his grasp,
the reason he had come, and his it had revealed the existence of new world – one he would rule in the
embarrassment was quickly swamped name of the gods.
by rage. ‘Listen to me,’ Lileath continued, stepping towards the knight. ‘This
war was never something that could have been won. Your brothers –
Be’lakor, who had eyes wherever a those who died for the Empire – a part of them lives on in the Haven.
shadow fell, knew at once that Lileath After all, what is a knight, but one who makes sacrifices for others?’
had at last left the council, though Be’lakor saw the knight’s empty hand clench and unclench. When the
he did not know why. The First- human spoke, it was in a voice summoned from a long way off, and taut
damned was wary of a trap, and did with emotion.
not immediately take the opportunity. ‘That might be a consolation, had you not been the author of that
In many ways, he was wise to be creed,’ he growled.
circumspect. Though neither Jerrod Lileath knelt, her skirts pooling on the thick bed of leaves behind her.
nor Lileath had guessed at Be’lakor’s ‘If you do not believe me, then kill me for what I have done. I only ask
presence, it was indeed a snare, if a that you hold true to your promise, and fight alongside the Incarnates
subtle one. So it was that the First- when the time comes.
damned came to hear much of what In answer, Jerrod took his sword in a two-handed grip, and levelled
passed between Lileath and Duke the point at Lileath’s neck.
Jerrod of lost Quenelles.

Chapter 4 | 149
 Jerrod never truly knew whether he Be’lakor dropped to the ground beside Little went entirely unnoticed beneath
would have gone through with his act the twitching duke. The First-damned the eaves of Athel Loren. Most sights
of murder. Certainly the fury and the regarded him for a moment, then were overlooked, as the spirits of
sense of betrayal rushing through his brought a clawed heel down upon the forest misinterpreted what they
blood urged him to do so, but some Jerrod’s left calf. The duke screamed had seen. However, Be’lakor’s attack
semblance of honour held him back. as the force of the blow buckled his was something not easily ignored by
The sword wavered, then steadied. It armour, pulverising the flesh beneath even the most obtuse spirit. Even as
was at that moment that Be’lakor – and snapping the bones. Satisfied with Jerrod and Lileath battled the First-
fearing that his prize was about to be his work, Be’lakor swept around and damned, spites had flitted through
slaughtered before him – burst from closed once more on Lileath. the undergrowth, carrying word to
the shadows. The sight of the daemon Alarielle. The Everqueen knew she
at last forced Jerrod to a decision – The goddess-made-mortal sensed, could not cover the distance swiftly
or at the very least drove the duke’s rather than saw, the daemon bear enough to intervene, but others had
instincts to take over. down upon her. Lileath’s eyes were come in her stead.
closed, her lips moving silently as she
Be’lakor bore down upon Lileath, wove a spell of banishment. Spirals Be’lakor regained his footing, Lileath
writhing darkness trailing behind of glowing white energy plucked at briefly forgotten as he judged his next
him. Jerrod took a long step to stand Be’lakor’s charging form, and wisps of move. Arrogant to a fault, the First-
between them, dropping his sword his shadow diffused into nothing. But damned believed that he could still
down into a guard pose as he did so. the First-damned was older than any triumph over one Incarnate and yet
Be’lakor did not slow, but lashed out exorcism, and could not be so easily escape with his prize. Yet even before
with his shadow-sword, thinking to cast into the Realm of Chaos by the the daemon could act on his decision,
cut down the arrogant mortal who young magics of the elves. He came there was a blur of brilliant white light
stood before him. Jerrod’s blessed on, his pace scarcely slowed. and a thunder of hooves as Malhandir
blade gleamed as it intercepted bore Tyrion into the glade.
the stroke, shining steel clanging The shadow-sword lashed out,
home against a sword of misery and cutting deep into Lileath’s forearm, At last, Be’lakor realised that he had
deception. The First-damned swept and striking the staff from her hands. lost. Two of the Incarnates he had
his wings back, climbing briefly Be’lakor hissed as droplets of the sought to evade were already at
away. Then he dove back down with goddess’ blood spattered across his Lileath’s side, and others would surely
a sibilant hiss, his shadow-sword arm, and steam began to rise from be close behind. Accepting his failure
outstretched like a spear. where it had touched. Mortal though for the second time in as many weeks,
Lileath now was, traces of her divine the First-damned melted back into
Lileath had regained her feet now, and power still lingered in her blood. the shadows, and fled the glade. Or
raised her staff to send bolts of light rather, he tried to. With a triumphant
lancing towards the First-damned. Defenceless now before the daemon, snort, Malekith stretched forth his
They passed through Be’lakor’s form Lileath backed away. Be’lakor kept power and tore the First-damned free
like arrows punching through fog, the pace, and lunged forward to seize her. from his shrouded sanctuary.
daemon’s body swirling apart and The First-damned’s claws brushed
back together where they passed. her arm, but did not close, for at that Be’lakor gave a snarl of confusion
moment Be’lakor lurched forward with as he realised that his escape route
Ignoring the goddess, Be’lakor swept a terrible scream of agony. Behind the was closed. Before the daemon could
towards her protector. Again, Jerrod daemon, Jerrod released his grip on recover, Malekith shifted his attention
parried, turning aside the strike before the sword he had thrust deep into the from the shadows of the glade to
it could pierce his heart. This time, daemon’s back, and collapsed once those that made up the daemon’s
however, Be’lakor lashed out with his again, this time lapsing into fevered body. Before Be’lakor realised what
free hand. The talons raked across unconsciousness. Be’lakor gave had occurred, the Eternity King
Jerrod’s exposed face, ripping three another bellow of pain as he twisted held him fast, unable even to move.
bloody lines across his skin. The duke the Bretonnian’s sword free, a spill of Malekith could have not held the
slammed into the ground, skidding dark blood flowing from the wound. daemon forever – even the Eternity
through the mud. Blood streamed He turned back to his intended victim, King’s will was finite. Yet it was long
from his wounds, and from an eye but Jerrod had bought much-needed enough. With Be’lakor thus held
that would never see again. Jerrod time. An ear-splitting roar sounded immobile, Tyrion wove a net of pure
moaned with pain and tried to stand, from high above as Seraphon plunged light to shackle the First-damned.
but his arms had lost their strength through the canopy and knocked Be’lakor, who had thought to seize a
and he collapsed into the leaves. Be’lakor sprawling. goddess, was now himself a prisoner.

150 | Chapter 4
 Jerrod lived, though without the skill have ignored him. They didn’t account The interrogation went more easily
of Athel Loren’s healers, he would the wizard to be their equal, despite than any could have expected.
have surely died. With his immediate the power he wielded. However, Be’lakor had little reason to remain
hurts tended, the duke was borne like the Emperor had raised his voice in silent. In truth, the First-damned’s
a hero back to the vast glade where support of Gelt’s idea. This, in turn, wounds hurt him little – he was too
his knights and the other refugees had won over Tyrion, and through old a fiend to be overly troubled by
from Averheim were encamped. At Tyrion, Alarielle. With his Everqueen physical pain. However, Be’lakor did
first, there were voices raised in thus swayed, Malekith had reluctantly not doubt that the likes of Malekith
exultation at Jerrod’s deeds. No truer agreed to temporarily spare the and Nagash could conjure up
test of chivalry could there be than to daemon from banishment. torments that even a daemon could
stand against a daemon in a damsel’s not withstand. Moreover, the First-
defence – even if that damsel were damned cared little if Archaon’s
an elf. However, those voices were plan became known to his enemies.
quickly stilled as the one-eyed duke Indeed, he practically welcomed the
recounted what he had learnt of opportunity for indiscretion. Twice
Lileath, and the truth of Bretonnia’s now, the daemon had sought to pre-
founding. As the evening passed into empt Archaon’s success with his own,
night, the dwarfs and the warriors of and both times he had failed. Be’lakor
the Empire noted a shift in their allies’ therefore saw little profit in remaining
demeanour, though they did not know silent – especially if the inevitable
what had caused it. outcome was to be banished to the
Realm of Chaos in time to see the
Her own wounds treated, Lileath Dark Gods raise Archaon up in his
returned to the council shortly after. rightful place. Better by far, or so the
Her mind was far afield. In her haste First-damned reckoned, to betray the
to assuage Jerrod’s guilt, she had Everchosen’s goal.
spoken too freely of the Haven. She
did not know whether or not Be’lakor However, the Eternity King had Thus did Be’lakor weave a tale
had heard her words, but had to made no promise that the daemon’s that horrified all who heard it. The
assume that he had done so. With captivity would be without pain. daemon made no attempt to lie, for
that assumption, a rare paralysis had Thus, when an escort of Black Guard no falsehood could have appalled
crept into the goddess-made-mortal’s dragged Be’lakor before the council more readily than the truth. With
mind. If the daemon escaped, he of the Incarnates, he was battered sibilant tongue, the First-damned
would act upon what he had heard. and bloodied. The tip of one horn spoke of how the Chaos Gods were
If he was slain, his immortal essence had been sheared off by a sword’s not so directionless as many mortal
would flee to the Realm of Chaos, and strike, and both wings hung limp at scholars believed them to be. Archaon
there surely parley his knowledge his back. Tyrion’s net of light had did not seek victory through the
to some advantage. Either way, the faded, but had been replaced by Empire’s destruction. After all, much
Chaos Gods would become aware of shackles of silver and starlight, and as the Empire reckoned itself a mighty
the Haven’s existence, and all she had the First-damned was helpless in their power in the world, Be’lakor crowed,
sacrificed would amount to nothing. grasp. Alarielle exchanged a long look it was trivial compared to those that
Caught in a dilemma created by her with Malekith, and then with Tyrion, had come before it. The First-damned
own carelessness, Lileath spoke little. both of which were indecipherable leered at the Emperor, seeking
to most of the council. Gelt took it as a reaction, but the other simply
Had it been left to Tyrion and a reprimand for the captive’s harms, returned the daemon’s gaze in silence.
Malekith, Be’lakor would have been but he was wrong. The wounds had
destroyed in the moment of his been inflicted at Alarielle’s command, The gods cared little for the fall of
capture. However, Gelt had suggested as proof of what awaited any lack nations, though they dined well
that the daemon, if seized, could be of cooperation. The Everqueen had enough on the slaughter provoked
interrogated. The wizard had been no sympathy for the daemon – what by such. Middenheim was the goal.
aware that much of the Incarnates’ compassion she possessed did not Indeed, it had always been the goal.
inability to decide upon a course extend to the servants of Chaos. Only Far beneath the city, deep within the
of action was due to their lack of Nagash recognised the truth, and Fauschlag rock, lay an artefact from
knowledge concerning Archaon’s he relished the fact that so perfect an earlier age. It was so old that its
intent. Despite the good sense of a soul as Alarielle’s yet harboured a original purpose had been forgotten
Gelt’s suggestion, the elves would fragment of darkness. long ago. However, this mattered little,

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as the gods did not covet the artefact
for its created function – they cared
only for the power it contained. If the
alone capture it in a siege – would
have to be many times larger than the
forces the council could bring to bear.
T eclis found Lileath on the
northern border of King’s
Glade. The air was thick with the
proper rituals were performed, the dry smell of changing seasons,
artefact would detonate, creating a It was Lileath who at last broke the the flowers withering as winter
rift to rival those found at the world’s silence. The goddess was shaking prepared to overtake that part of
poles. This revelation was horrendous as she stood to address the council, the forest.
enough, for it meant the destruction her face so immobile that it could ‘Will you not tell me what
of not only the Empire, but most only be so in order to contain some troubles you?’ the mage asked,
of the Old World also. Yet the gods wellspring of desperate emotion. moving to the goddess’ side.
were not content merely with the Old Her voice hard and cold, she argued Lileath answered without
World’s destruction. These were the that the impossible would have to be turning. ‘I told you that we could
End Times, the Rhana Dandra of elven accomplished – the Incarnates would win, and we cannot.’
myth, and their designs went much have to go to Middenheim and either ‘You did not know.’
further than that. seize the artefact, or destroy it, before She laughed, the notes bitter in
Archaon could bring about the Dark the still air. ‘I knew from the first.
Nagash recognised the implications Gods’ plan. When Malekith protested What manner of prophet would I
first, but made no move to speak of that such a campaign would take too be if I had not?’
them. Instead, it was left to Teclis to long to prosecute, Lileath spoke of Teclis felt a sudden chill. ‘Then
explain. He did so in hushed tones, using magic to cover the distance. you lied to me. Why?’
horrified at the meaning of his words. Gelt, who had lately used such ‘For the same reason that you
The loremasters of Hoeth, he said, sorceries to escape Averheim, pointed lied: it was necessary. You told
had theorised that the world had out that to transport so many, so far, me once that you could not fight
survived the coming of Chaos only could not be done – it would require without hope. I gave you that
because the polar rifts had formed so much magic as to risk opening the hope, because I needed you.’
a sort of equilibrium between the very rift they all feared. Nonetheless, ‘Then... everything I have done
tremendous forces at play. If a new Lileath would not be swayed – and – the friends and allies I have
rift burst into being in Middenheim, no other could conceive a better doomed – was it for nothing?’
with none to balance it on the far side plan. Reluctantly, the council entered Nausea settled in Teclis’ gut.
of the globe, the world would be torn recess, so that proper consideration For months, he had tried to tell
apart and dragged into the Realm could be given. himself it had all been in service
of Chaos. Were the new rift to be of a greater good, and to find out
birthed, the end was inevitable. The that it had not...
cataclysm might happen all at once, Lileath turned to face him at
or it could take years, but the world last. ‘No. Not at first,’ she was
that all had known up to that point speaking hurriedly, the words
would exist no more. clipped and sorrowful. ‘By their
sacrifice, I wrought a Haven
Teclis fell silent, perhaps that would have seen the elves
contemplating how his theft of Ulric’s continue when all else fell into
flame had caused Middenheim to fall darkness. And I succeeded.’ She
swifter than it should. No one sought blinked away a sudden tear. ‘But I
to fill the void. All trusted the truth of However, one last act was performed cannot feel the Haven any longer.
what they had heard, but no one knew before the council dissolved. Be’lakor The Dark Gods have found it... My
precisely what was to be done about had wrought great harm upon Athel beloved, my daughter, my hope for
it. Middenheim was a long march Loren, had sought to deliver the last the future – all have been lost.’
away, through territory overrun by of the elven pantheon into the grip of Teclis backed away, horrified.
Archaon’s horde. In the past, the elves his dark masters. As punishment, the ‘I am sorry,’ Lileath said, turning
could have used the worldroots – the First-damned was imprisoned in a away. ‘I should have been honest
conduits that bound Athel Loren to perfect ruby, plucked from Alarielle’s from the first. I only hope that you
many other forests – to come within crown. There he would languish, can forgive me.’
striking distance of the city. However, unable to escape to the Realm of ‘Perhaps,’ croaked Teclis. ‘...but
those that led into the Empire had Chaos until the ending of the world. not today.’
withered and died as Chaos had Of course, unless the Incarnates could Then he fled, before despair
swept over those lands. Any army find a way to forestall Archaon’s plan, could overwhelm him.
attempting to reach the city – let that time would not be so far off.

Chapter 4 | 153
 Athel Loren was shrouded in a sombre Besides Jerrod, Teclis was the only Elsewhere, a bandaged and scarred
mood that night, but nowhere was it other Lileath had told of the Haven, Duke Jerrod led the Bretonnians
bleaker than where Lileath trod. Even and then only after it had been lost. westward through the forest. The
as Be’lakor had confessed Archaon’s The mage’s bitterness was equal to Emperor had tried to convince him to
plan, she had felt the Haven’s Lileath’s own, his sense of betrayal remain, but to no avail. Nonetheless,
presence slip from her mind. For a every bit as deep as Jerrod’s. Through the two had parted as friends, bound
time, she had clung to the hope that blind adherence to the goddess’ together by their similar burdens and
it had merely been her fatigue that schemes, he had become as cold and the many battles that they had fought
had hidden it from her thoughts, but calculating as she, seeing only the and bled in together.
each passing moment had proved that destination, and not thinking of those
hope a delusion. The Haven was gone, harmed along the way. Had the Haven Every heart in the knightly column
snuffed out like a guttering candle by not been lost, it would still have been was full of anger and sorrow,
the all-pervasive dark of Chaos. a heavy burden to bear. As matters unable to forgive Lileath for her
stood, his hopes were dashed, and his manipulations. Bretonnian society
The goddess laid the blame for the mind teetered on the brink of despair. had been founded upon worship of
Haven’s destruction at the First- the Lady, upon the tales of Gilles and
damned’s feet – and at Jerrod’s. All other chivalric champions. With the
of her precautions, all of her plans, lie callously exposed, they were lost,
had been rendered into ash through rudderless in the roiling tides of the
misplaced guilt. She had raised the End Times. The knights were unsure
Bretonnians up out of barbarism, had of their purpose – they knew only that
given them a purpose and a cause. they would no longer battle alongside
The mortal knight had no place the elves and the goddess who had
questioning her. used them so.

Yet no matter how she rationalised Alarielle could have prevented Jerrod
what had come to pass, Lileath knew from leaving, could have twisted
that only she was to blame for the evil the paths of the forest back upon
Be’lakor had wrought. Arrogance had themselves, but she did not. The
ever been the failing of god and elf Everqueen did not know what had
alike, so it was of little surprise that it transpired to alter the Bretonnians’
had corrupted her also. Still it was a outlook, but knew too well the danger
hard burden to bear. posed by reluctant allies.

T yrion found the Emperor on the edge of the

Winterglade. The other was gazing up through the
bare branches, watching the stars as they wheeled their
Tyrion said nothing, and the Emperor nodded. ‘Good.
I spent many lifetimes sealed within that vortex; I would
hate to think it was for nothing. At least we know the
stately way across the heavens. shape of the Dark Gods’ plans. We shall have to hope
‘They are so certain in their course,’ the Emperor said, that we are equal to defeating them.’
without turning. ‘I wish that I was.’ ‘I see little cause for that hope.’
‘Jerrod has gone,’ Tyrion said heavily, ‘and my brother ‘Meekly spoken, for an elf recently returned from the
will talk to no one, not even I. Everything is happening dead,’ the Emperor rejoined.
as you said it would. How did you know?’ With an effort, Tyrion brought his temper under
The Emperor at last tore his gaze away from the skies. control. ‘It will take more than clever words to survive
‘I didn’t, not in detail. But dark days have a way of the coming doom.’
causing long-buried poisons to seep out, and your race ‘Indeed it will. That is why you and I must persuade
has always been too deeply mired in manipulation.’ the others to go to Middenheim.’
Tyrion scowled. ‘Those are bold words, for a man ‘That city lies many weeks’ march away, through
wearing a skin not his own.’ territory swarming with foes. Do you honestly believe
‘I make no apology,’ the Emperor replied evenly. ‘We that we can prevail against such odds?’
have few enough advantages, and I shall not yield this ‘I will not sit back and wait for death.’
one – slender though it is – without good cause. My ‘Nor shall I,’ Tyrion reluctantly allowed. ‘To
intent is as I claimed – otherwise you would not keep Middenheim, then?’
my secret, would you?’ The Emperor nodded. ‘There is no other way.’

154 | Chapter 4
When the council of Incarnates For days, the beastmen had hurled
reconvened at dawn the next day, themselves into death, a sacrifice
Lileath again made the argument that of blood and bone meant to attract
Middenheim was the key, but this the favour of wrathful Khorne. Alas
time she did so to an assemblage for the Children of Chaos, the Lord
already won over to her point of of Skulls’ gaze was fixed ever on
view. In the still watches of the night, Middenheim. However, another had
each of the Incarnates had reached seen their deeds and found a way
the inescapable conclusion that the to bind them to his own purpose.
Fauschlag artefact would have to be Ka’Bandha, despatched to claim the
neutralised or destroyed somehow Emperor’s skull, had searched for a
– even if it cost the lives of all who path that would carry his Blood Hunt
made the attempt. into the heart of Athel Loren. At last,
he had found one.
Gotri Hammerson, who had
anticipated another day of With a deafening thunderclap, a
acrimonious indecision, let out a rift burst into being, and the blood-
sardonic cheer, uncaring of the chill soaked meadows of Silvale Glade ran
expressions this provoked on the like water drawn into a whirlpool.
faces of the elves. Teclis greeted the Beastmen exulted in crude tongues as
decision with a wintery smile. Vlad they were swept away by the unseen
von Carstein did so with a raised tide, rejoicing at their gods’ embrace.
eyebrow, as if the matter was neither Elves attempted to scramble away
here nor there to him. Arkhan, as ever, as the ground plucked and grasped
gave little sign he had even heard any at their feet. Thousands perished in
of what had been said. those moments, dragged down into
the whirl of blood and darkness than
Durthu, Naestra and Arahan had left had sprung up at the glade’s heart.
before first light, in order to aid Imrik
in repelling the beastman warherds The beastman assault was ended in
that moved closer to King’s Glade that moment, but now another sprang
by the day. Less than a league to the forth. Horned figures burst from
north, he fought his bloodiest battle the roiling firmament, hissing crude
yet against the encroaching warherds. challenges as they threw themselves
It seemed that no matter how many at the survivors of Imrik’s army.
of the corrupted creatures the prince Baying daemon-hounds prowled
slew, there were always thousands alongside, snarling and slavering
more ready to throw themselves as their powerful strides ate up the
onto elven steel. It was less a clash distance between them and their
of armies, and more a battle of two prey. And behind all of them came
nations locked in a doomed embrace. the murderous, winged silhouettes of
The Silvale Glade stank of blood, and Ka’Bandha and his lieutenants.
of the smoke from bonfires lit to burn
the tainted flesh. Imrik bellowed orders as the daemons
advanced, but his lines were too rent,
The beastmen were wild with too disordered to offer meaningful
madness, the frenzied bloodlust of resistance. The Blood Hunt smashed
the minotaurs spread to every gor through Imrik’s lines like a red wind,
and ungor that prowled beneath the leaving savaged dead in their wake.
eaves of Athel Loren. The elves were Had they so chosen, they could have
weary, but could not – and would torn the dragon prince’s forces to ruin
not – retreat for the rest they sorely in that moment, but they were hunting
needed. To do so was to surrender greater prey. With a triumphant roar,
King’s Glade to the Children of Chaos, Ka’Bandha urged the Blood Hunt on to
and that was too steep a price for a King’s Glade, and towards the council
few hours’ respite. of Incarnates.
 THE COUNCIL OF INCARNATES
It had been many ages since so much mortal power had been gathered in one place. Indeed, perhaps such an
assembly had never happened before. Yet for all their might, and purported common cause, it remained to be
seen if the council of Incarnates could act with one purpose.

MALEKITH
Even through recent events, Malekith had dared hope that
the Rhana Dandra could be averted or, failing that, survived.
Like Teclis, each scrap of evidence to the contrary had driven
him into an ever-deepening malaise. However, it was not
despair that threatened to overwhelm Malekith, but rage.
He was haunted daily by the memories of wasted years, and
of sacrifices and struggles that would now seem to come to
naught. Now, he seemed again more like the Witch King he
had been, than the Eternity King he had become.

ALARIELLE
Alarielle, more than any, recognised the full horror of
the Blood Hunt’s assault. Her connection with the forest
had grown deeper as the power of life had wedded itself
to her soul, and the manifestation of a Chaos rift within
its bounds had hurt her terribly. Yet that same pain had
awoken a steely determination within the Everqueen’s
soul. She no longer had any fear of the Rhana Dandra, just
an unending hatred for those who sought to bring it about.

CARADRYAN
In truth, Caradryan did not consider himself the equal of any on the council of
Incarnates. He would have gladly given up the mantle of fire, and responsibility
for what was to come, had it not been that to do so would have been an act
of great dishonour. So it was that he took to the field of battle alongside the
Incarnates for the sake of the world.

TYRION
Tyrion was glad of the opportunity for battle. Since his return from the
dead, he had seen and heard much that defied belief, or overturned
everything he had known in the years before. To be allied with
Malekith, whilst at the same time unable to trust either Alarielle or
Teclis, was almost more than the prince could bear.

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 BALTHASAR GELT Malekith, the Eternity King
Still buoyed by his escape from the
influence of necromancy, Gelt was
Alarielle,
determined to serve the needs of the Incarnate of Life
world however he could. He, alone of
the Incarnates, was prepared to trust
almost all of his fellows. The wizard Tyrion,
had dealt with elves many times over Incarnate of Light
the years, and fancied that he had
some measure of their fragile spirits.
Nagash, however, was another matter. Caradryan,
The Great Necromancer was wholly Incarnate of Fire
bereft of the strange nobility that
appeared to drive Vlad, and Gelt was
Balthasar Gelt,
ever watchful for his betrayal. Incarnate of Metal

THE EMPEROR Nagash,

In those dark days, the Emperor Supreme Lord of the Undead
alone believed in the possibility of
a lasting victory. It was that which
drove him on through the council’s The Emperor Ascendant
arguments, and the increasingly
desperate portents for the days
ahead. The Emperor believed that Arkhan the Black,
Mortarch of Sacrament
he could count on Tyrion to do the
right thing, for they had walked
similar roads to Athel Loren. The Vlad von Carstein,
others, however, he was ever Mortarch of Shadow
watchful of. In particular, the
Emperor feared that the elves were
not ready to make the sacrifices Gotri Hammerson
that might be required of them, Runelord
and that by the time they were,
it would be too late. Teclis

Lileath
Spellweaver

NAGASH
Nagash loathed that he had been
driven into an alliance with mortals –
all the more so since Vlad seemed to
have accepted this fate so willingly,
thus revealing that the vampire
would surely at some point turn on
his master, as had too many of the
Mortarchs. Nonetheless, Nagash’s
dedication to the cause at hand was
total – at least until another way
revealed itself.

Chapter 4 | 157
 THE BLOOD HUNT
Ka’Bandha took no chances when bringing the Blood Hunt to Athel Loren. Failure would mean not only
disgrace before Archaon – which the Bloodthirster could have borne – but also before almighty Khorne, which
would likely have led to Ka’Bandha’s demotion, or worse.

KA’BANDHA
Ka’Bandha had served the Lord of Skulls for time out of mind,
rising from the lowly ranks of the sixth host through many deeds of
carnage. He was no mindless slaughterer, having long ago realised
that careful strategy could make the blood flow far more freely than
random rage ever could. By the time he came to Averheim, Ka’Bandha
aspired to the exalted ranks of the second host, and for that he
needed to earn Khorne’s favour like never before. For that reason, and
that reason alone, he was content to feign service to Archaon. There
could be no greater gift to the Lord of Skulls than the blood of not just
the Empire, but an entire world.

KHORAX
There is no absolute rank in the legions of Khorne, no title or station
that cannot be claimed by slaughtering the one who holds it. In his
more lucid moments, Khorax longed to supplant Ka’Bandha as master
of the Blood Hunt. However, the ever-burning fury that filled Khorax
made it all but impossible for the Bloodthirster of Insensate Rage to
focus his actions on any kind of coherent challenge. Still, ambition
had spurred Khorax to many a reckless hunt, as his heavily-scarred
body attested, for he expended what little patience he possessed on
awaiting the opportunity to depose Ka’Bandha.

THE SKARADRIM
Ka’Bandha’s monstrous lieutenants
were Bloodthirsters of Unfettered
Fury, warrior daemons of the eighth
rank who fought with axe and lash.
These daemons had no hosts of their
own, for they had known defeat in
Khorne’s sight, and thus had been
stripped of the right to lead. Khorne’s
favour, once lost, is not easily
regained, but the Blood Hunt offered
a chance, to those determined enough
to grasp it. The daemon who slew
the hunt’s prey, and took his skull
as a trophy, would be guaranteed a
fleeting moment in Khorne’s gaze –
time enough, perhaps, for squandered
glory to be savagely reclaimed.

158 | Chapter 4
 Ka’Bandha
Wrath of Khorne Bloodthirster

Khorax
Bloodthirster of Insensate Rage

The Skaradrim
Fourteen Bloodthirsters of
Unfettered Fury

The Huntskards
THE HUNTSKARDS Fifteen warbands of Bloodletters,
Each Huntskard warband answered to one of the Bloodthirsters, and was one warband of Bloodcrushers
driven to claim skulls not for itself, but for its wrathful master. Though they
might have appeared to be the handlers of the Blood Hunt’s hounds, the The Hounds
Huntskards were merely trackers of a different sort. Their ragged intelligence Eight vast packs of Flesh Hounds
more than compensated for how dim their senses were in comparison to those
of their charges – the Huntskards knew how mortal quarry thought, and could The Barbadax
outguess a prey’s intentions in a way that no hound ever could. Eight batteries of Skull Cannons

THE HOUNDS
According to the darkest legend, the flesh hounds of the Blood Hunt were once
mortal hunters who had fallen into savagery. Such men no longer sought quarry
for survival, or for justice, but did so simply in order to spill blood, and sport
the trophies of their kills. The legend goes on to tell that such men lost their
minds long before they lost their lives, and dwelled as cannibalistic hermits in
the wilderness. Certainly, no trace of intelligence lies behind their coal-black
eyes any longer – only a vicious and abiding hunger for pulsing flesh.

THE BARBADAX
Ka’Bandha loathed the skull cannons
of the Barbadax, deeming them too
slow for a true hunt. Yet the Barbadax
had been part of the Blood Hunt since
the long-ago times when Khorne
himself had guided the pack, and to
part with tradition was therefore to
challenge the Lord of Skulls himself.
Thus Ka’Bandha grudgingly retained
the skull cannons as part of his Blood
Hunt. Nonetheless, he stubbornly
overlooked the many times they
had been pivotal in slaughtering a
chosen prey, and forever insisted
they be allowed to engage the quarry
only once the rest of the hunt had
squandered its opportunity.

Chapter 4 | 159
 THE BLOOD HUNT UNLEASHED
A ring of elven warriors stood sentinel strides eating up the distance between Emperor’s might was but a shadow of
upon the perimeter of King’s Glade, them and their prey. Black blades the godlike beings who battled around
but it was a thin guard, appointed glistened as the bloodletters hurled him. Hammerson was arguably
more out of ceremonial need than themselves forward, hisses turning to even more outclassed, never having
to meet any other. The fury of the death-screams as the magics of the possessed an Incarnate’s power.
daemon onslaught swept it away in Incarnates rose to greet them. Nevertheless, the two made no
an eye-blink. The leading bloodletters attempt to shelter behind their allies,
tore through the outer guardians Tyrion made his stand next to the but fought together in the glade’s
without slowing, leaving beheaded Everqueen’s unconscious form. heart. Hammerson had taken a deep
and blood-sodden corpses strewn A nimbus of searing light played hellblade-wound to the shoulder in
through the ferns and brambles. about his head and rippled from his the early moments of the fight, but the
Howling their victory, the daemons outstretched blade, scouring blood- runesmith fought gruffly on, repaying
loped on, hungry for greater foes. red horrors from the mortal world that injury with every sweep of his
Ka’Bandha had warned that no other wherever it touched. Beside Tyrion, staff. Already the Reikland runefang’s
than he should claim the Emperor’s lightning crackled from Teclis’ staff. steel was caked in daemon ichor,
head, but his hunters could smell Where it touched daemonic flesh, the the hammerhead of the runesmith’s
prey in the glade beyond. There were smouldering victims were hurled back staff flecked with daemonic matter.
skulls aplenty to be had. Howling with into the press of their fellows. But still Deathclaw’s plumage was stained
murderous anticipation, the daemons the daemons came. Back to back the black almost to his shoulders; gobbets
sprang out of the shadows and into brothers fought, their differences of of unnatural flesh trailed from his
the council glade... recent years temporarily forgotten, talons and beak.
the old instincts as sharp as ever.
...and hissed their last as Tyrion’s A short distance away, Arkhan the
cleansing fire burnt them to ash. To his north, a wall of fire sprang Black watched impassively as another
up at Caradryan’s call, catching a howling pack of bloodletters hurled
The daemons’ arrival in Silvale had score of bloodletters mid-leap, and themselves at the Emperor and the
been accompanied by a rippling burning them to cinders. Four of the runesmith. Thus far, the Liche King
wave through the winds of magic. daemons survived their passage. had been relatively untroubled by
For most, this had manifested as Though their skin was afire, they bore the daemonic assault. His master,
a sudden pressure in their minds. down on Caradryan, swords glinting. Nagash, had no need of assistance,
However, Alarielle, tied as she was The captain held his ground, and the and if a daemon strayed too close,
to the forest’s agony, had been Phoenix Blade swept out, beheading Arkhan simply urged Razarak
overwhelmed. Tyrion had reached one daemon and hacking deep into skyward, beyond the zenith of even
the Everqueen’s side the moment another’s chest. The surviving pair the most desperate leap. The Liche
she collapsed. Though the warning sprang together, bearing Caradryan King did not much care for the
came too late for the sentinels on to the ground, teeth snapping for his mortals his master feigned alliance
the glade’s perimeter, the council throat. There was a sudden screech with. He therefore saw little reason to
of Incarnates would not be taken from above as Ashtari entered the expend his strength in their defence,
so ill prepared. Shouts rang out fray, plunging from the skies like a save for the fact it might otherwise
as the Incarnates called for their flaming comet. The firebird’s talons earn Nagash’s disfavour. With a ghost
steeds, or issued orders to their locked around both of Caradryan’s of a sigh, Arkhan drew upon the death
companions – orders that went largely attackers, tearing them away magic that clustered close around his
unacknowledged. Allies though they from their intended victim before master, and prepared to intervene.
might have been, none amongst the pinwheeling them across the glade.
Incarnates was yet prepared to accept Caradryan sprang to his feet as A knot of howling bloodletters sprang
another’s authority. Ashtari swept back around towards forward, tongues darting as they
him, and he vaulted into the phoenix’s came. Hammerson knew there were
Even before the ashes of Tyrion’s saddle a moment later. too many for him to fight alone.
victims had settled, a chorus of There was a screech from somewhere
howls announced the arrival of a Few would have blamed the Emperor above, and the runesmith felt a
second, larger wave of daemons in the and Gotri Hammerson for holding sudden breeze as Deathclaw swept
undergrowth beyond. This time, the back from that fight. With the power out a massive wing to scatter the
creatures came from all sides, their of Azyr stripped from him, the daemons like broken dolls.

160 | Chapter 4
Still more daemons charged forward, the magic from the air around them.
undismayed by their fellows’ fall. Lileath joined her magics to Gelt’s,
As they sprang towards him, and the molten storm intensified,
Hammerson’s gaze drifted up to overcoming the flesh hounds’
where the cadaverous liche sat defences. Ear-splitting howls rang
motionless upon his hovering mount. out as dozens of the beasts were torn
apart, but more surged on, flanks
Hammerson bellowed for Arkhan’s streaked with ichor.
assistance, already knowing his
words were futile. The undead One flesh hound burst clear of the
sorcerer had done nothing to help so shard-storm with a triumphant howl,
far – there was no reason to expect and loped towards Gelt. The wizard
him to act otherwise now. As the reached desperately into Quicksilver’s
runesmith had predicted, the Liche saddlebags, his straining fingers
King gave no response. Deathclaw’s settling on a small glass vial. The
screeching and the bloodletters’ throw that followed was guided more
snarls were the only sound. Shaking by luck than by aim. The stoppered
a fist, the runesmith hurled curses at tube shattered against the flesh
the liche for his apparent indifference hound’s forehead as the daemon
to the dwarf’s situation. sprang forward. At once the daemon’s
triumphant roar changed into a howl
Then the daemons were upon him, of pain, as the corrosive liquid within
and what little breath he had was splashed across its brow. Gelt flung
needed for fighting. Hammerson himself across Quicksilver’s neck, and
smashed two to the ground before the blinded, dying flesh hound passed
being slammed back himself. The above him, its lifeless claws tearing
runesmith fell heavily onto the glade’s his cloak to ribbons, but leaving no
floor, his staff slipping from his mark upon his flesh.
grasp. He tried to right himself, but
the bloodletters swarmed over him. Lileath was faring worse. With Gelt
A blow from a bunched fist sent one distracted, the shard-storm had
of the daemons reeling, but others ebbed, and the flesh hounds were
pinned him down, tongues flicking in pressing through. For the goddess
anticipation of the blood soon to flow. Lileath had once been, defeat would
have been unthinkable. She could
Suddenly, there was a brilliant have confronted a hundred such
green flash, and a stink of old and creatures and swept them aside with
musty caverns. Hammerson heard a but the merest of thoughts. However,
bloodletter hiss in pain, and felt the that time was long past. Even one
weight that was pinning him down flesh hound was a dire threat for the
vanish. Scrambling to his feet, the mortal Lileath now was. The closest
runesmith kicked a dying daemon daemon was within moments of
clear, feeling its strangely brittle pouncing, and dozens more pressed
skin crumble beneath his boot. close behind. The goddess swept
Hammerson looked up, and found his her staff out, its head slamming
stare matched by one from Arkhan into a flesh hound’s slavering maw.
the Black. The inscrutable liche held Splinters of black teeth sprayed from
his gaze for a moment, then looked the beast’s ruined mouth. Still it came
away without comment. forward, its movements growing
slower and more deliberate as it
Elsewhere, snarling daemon- gathered to pounce. Others came
hounds burst from the undergrowth. behind, glistening from scores of small
They passed effortlessly through wounds. As the lead hound’s muscles
the searing shard-blizzard Gelt coiled for it to lunge, Lileath tightened
summoned in their path, their brass her grip on her staff, and prepared for
collars glowing a dull red, sapping a fight she knew she could not win.
Salvation came from an unlikely
source. In the moment the flesh
hound pounced, there was a blur of
motion to Lileath’s right. A clawed
hand snatched the daemon out of
the air, and dashed it to the ground
in one smooth motion. A heartbeat
later, Vlad von Carstein’s thin blade
rammed home through the flesh
hound’s throat, then ripped clear to
cut another leaping daemon in two. At
once, a howl rose up as the rest of the
pack converged on the vampire, but
he was a prey beyond them, as elusive
as smoke on the wind. Six more
hounds fell to Blood Drinker’s precise
strikes before Gelt was able to breathe
new life into his shard-storm. Not one
of the beasts had managed to mark
Vlad in return.

Lileath shot the vampire a questioning

look, uncertain as to why was he
fighting at her side, rather than in his
master’s defence. Vlad shrugged, and
cocked his head backwards. Lileath
followed the motion, and she saw
Nagash standing alone at the heart of
a writhing, amethyst vortex. Withered
daemon corpses were strewn around
the Great Necromancer’s swirling
robes; fragments of broken bone
and desiccated skin danced upon
the unnatural winds he had called
into being. Despite herself, Lileath
shuddered. Alone of the Incarnates,
Nagash needed no assistance from his
allies. In that moment, the goddess-
made-mortal wondered at the wisdom
of allowing the Great Necromancer to
seize greater power.

Through it all, Malekith ranted and

railed like a madman. Seraphon
swooped through the glade, and the
Eternity King sent dark fire coursing
wherever the daemons clustered.
These spells bore as much of
Malekith’s rage as his voice. Blackfire
constructs of the Eternity King’s
likeness howled across the glade,
immolating everything they touched.
Two elven realms had been destroyed
from beneath his imperious rule, and
Malekith was determined not to lose a
third. He scarcely noted the fate of his
allies, did not even glance at the fallen along the shoulders of the blood rift, Caradryan met the Bloodthirsters’
Everqueen. A bottomless abyss of a wall of murderous blades that held charge with one of his own. Ashtari
rage had opened up beneath him, and the remains of the elf army at bay. plunged forward in a screeching
the Eternity King teetered dangerously Ka’Bandha would gladly turn and dive that saw the firebird fly true for
on the brink. slaughter the elves at his back, but Khorax Doomhand. Khorne-forged
only once Karl Franz’s severed skull steel lashed out, the heavy-bladed axe
On the Incarnates and their allies was clasped in his hands. slicing down fit to cleave the phoenix
fought, undaunted by the savagery and its rider from the air. Swift as the
of their foes. Mere minutes had The Lord of the Hunt held his blow was, Caradryan was faster. The
passed since the Blood Hunt had first skaradrim back as his daemons Phoenix Blade blurred to deflect the
attacked, but already the battle for snarled and died at the hands of the axe. At the same time, Ashtari twisted
survival had taken its toll in a myriad Incarnates and their allies. Such was away from the Bloodthirster and
of small wounds. The daemons the tradition of the Blood Hunt, to climbed skyward once more. Khorax
cared nothing for their own battered allow the huntsmen and trackers the roared, the sound a mix of fury denied
flesh. Flesh hounds snapped and chance to claim a worthy kill before and searing pain as Ashtari’s trailing
lunged because they knew no other the huntsmasters took the field. It was wake of fire washed over him.
way. The fury of battle was upon not in Ka’Bandha’s nature to stand
them, and could only be stilled by idly by whilst there was blood to be The Incarnate and his mount had
their deaths, or those of their foes. spilt. Every fibre of the Bloodthirster’s underestimated their foe’s reach,
The Bloodletters of the Hunt fought being yearned to spread his wings however, and Khorax’s monstrous
because fury was in their nature, and wide, bellow praised to his master axe slashed into the air after them,
because they knew that to slay one of and slake his growing battle-lust upon catching Ashtari’s outstretched wing.
the champions within the glade was the quarry. Yet the Blood Hunt was The firebird beat his wings furiously,
to earn favour with Ka’Bandha – and sacred, its traditions inviolate, and trying to continue his climb, but
if not with him, then with mighty Ka’Bandha contained his fury. He was Khorax was too fast, and struck
Khorne himself. a Bloodthirster of the third host, not the phoenix another glancing blow.
one of the mindless berserkers of the Ashtari plunged into the glade floor,
As battle raged, Ka’Bandha and his sixth, and he knew that a slaughter gouging a fiery furrow through the
skaradrim approached. Already, the deferred could make the blood taste corpse-choked ground. The impact
Bloodthirster knew that he had erred. all the sweeter. flung Caradryan from his saddle, the
So focussed had he been on following captain a blazing meteor in his own
the Emperor’s blood-spoor to Athel The depth of Ka’Bandha’s sight went right as he tumbled end over end
Loren, that he had not realised the full far beyond that of mortals. Even from before slamming into the glade floor.
extent of the power veiled beneath the a distance, he could see the power Ashtari’s plunge also finally took him
forest’s eaves. The Blood Hunt had swirling through and around the beyond reach of Khorax’s axe, but
the ferocity to lay low any fortress in Incarnates’ bodies. Yet he also saw it was too late. The firebird skidded
the mortal realm, but the presence of that they were more akin to mortals to halt, and lay motionless amongst
the Incarnates made Athel Loren no than truly divine beings. He had the slaughter. A short distance away,
ordinary bastion. fought such creatures before, and Caradryan hauled his bloodied body
thirsted for the opportunity to do so upright by bracing his halberd’s staff
In truth, Ka’Bandha was not greatly again. At last, as another wave of amongst the piled dead. With a roar
concerned. It had been many bloodcrushers crashed into the glade, of triumph that reverberated in the
centuries since the Blood Hunt had the Lord of the Hunt could restrain bones of all who heard it, Khorax
failed to claim a quarry. Not since himself no longer. With a bellow that threw back his wings and dove
Magnus the Pious had evaded their shook the trees, he took wing towards towards the Incarnate of Fire.
grasp at the gates of Kislev had a King’s Glade, and the skaradrim came
chosen skull gone unclaimed. Karl with him. Gelt witnessed Caradryan’s plight. He
Franz would fall, and his head would urged Quicksilver towards the fallen
be taken as a token to Middenheim. The skaradrim arrived in the glade elf, then hauled back on the reins,
If it cost Ka’Bandha hundreds – or like the End Times made manifest. torn by hesitation. The Blood Hunt’s
even thousands – of his hunters, The beating of their wings was lesser daemons pressed close around
then so be it. There were other skulls thunder, and their fury scorched the Vlad and Lileath, and the wizard
within King’s Glade that would more very air around them. Lesser beings was loath to abandon them, even for
than compensate him for their loss. – whole armies of them – would have another’s benefit. He needn’t have
It was however troublesome that quailed before their arrival, but not worried however – the Mortarch of
fully half the Blood Hunt still fought the Incarnates. Shadow was in his element.

Chapter 4 | 163
 The daemons reminded Vlad of the But Khorax was not yet done. Rising struck from above, whilst thorns and
more feral of his own kind, due to up out of his impact crater, the shards of rocks pummelled it from
their artless fighting style that relied Bloodthirster bellowed and flexed below. Pure starlight and amber
more on brute force than what could against the auric chains, the gold spears seared the Bloodthirster’s
be regarded as true skill. The vampire warping as the daemon brought his flesh, whilst shadows and ghostly
stood amongst a growing pile of fearsome strength to bear. There was spirits smothered it. Blinded, bleeding
corpses, his blade thrusting and a dull snap as the metal gave way, and burnt, the daemon crashed to the
darting past the daemons’ clumsy the ruined and mangled scraps falling ground, and did not move. Tyrion saw
guard. None of this dismayed his foes beneath the Bloodthirster’s hooves. the creature’s fall, and gave Teclis a
– each body that slumped forward in The daemon’s wings were mangled, curt nod of approval. Then, the prince
a spray of ichor only redoubled the for they had borne the brunt of his hauled upon Malhandir’s reins and
survivors’ intent. Lileath, too, had impact, but Khorax gave no sign of sped to the east, where more winged
found her balance after the initial pain. Whirling his axe, he thundered shadows converged on Hammerson
attack. Cold moonlight shone from towards Caradryan once again. and the Emperor.
her outstretched palm, the purity of
its caress causing daemonic flesh to Gelt hammered at the Bloodthirster No sooner had Tyrion departed, than
smoulder and flare where it touched. with gleaming metal shards that there was another bellow as a third
Though surrounded by hissing tore deep into the brute’s thick flesh. Bloodthirster made its presence know.
bloodletters, Vlad somehow marked Khorax should have retreated at that Perhaps Tyrion had not seen the
Gelt’s indecision and yelled at the point, or sought another way to assail third daemon, or maybe he deemed
other to be on his way. With one his foes, but he was too far gone to his brother able to manage a single
last, backwards glance, Gelt urged battle-rage. With a roar, he charged assailant. But as Teclis reached into
Quicksilver onwards. into the storm, shoulders braced the winds of magic once again, he
against the fusillade of magic. Ichor realised how hastily he had spent
On Gelt flew, determined to reach dripped from his wounds, but he paid his strength in order to regain the
Caradryan’s side before Khorax could it no heed and forged on. Caradryan approval of a brother he had wronged.
claim his life. More flesh hounds called a wall of flame into being in Nevertheless, as the daemon drew
burst from the undergrowth as the the daemon’s path. As the fire took near to Alarielle’s unconscious form,
wizard travelled. They leapt high, root, the Bloodthirster’s strength at the mage smothered his doubts and
fanged maws gaping wide, but Gelt last faded. With a final baleful roar, rose up to face the new foe.
was ready for them. Scarcely had Khorax collapsed into the flames.
the daemons’ hindquarters left the Uttering a sibilant word of power,
ground when the Staff of Volans Away to the south, two more of Teclis smote the daemon with a bolt
flared in the wizard’s hands. With a the skaradrim converged on Tyrion of cerulean lightning, hurling it away
brittle shout, Gelt loosed a glittering and Teclis as they stood guard over from the Everqueen. The Bloodthirster
wave that transformed the leaping Alarielle. The first took scant notice of regained its balance with a sweep
hounds into motionless gold. Before the daemon-corpses strewn around of its smouldering wings, then dove
the lifeless brutes could hit the the twins, seeing only two fragile straight for the mage a second time.
ground, the wizard uttered a charm mortals ripe for cleaving. Its bellowing Again Teclis sent lightning hammering
of transformation that reshaped dive turned into an uncontrolled towards the monster. This time the
the metal into heavy chains. At the plummet as Tyrion’s blast of cleansing Bloodthirster was prepared, and
wizard’s gesture, the manacles flew light reduced its left wing to ash. The deflected the crackling energy with
through the air and fastened tight daemon slammed into the glade floor the blade of its axe. The daemon
around Khorax’s arms and wings. as a bellowing meteor, the sound of slammed to the ground with enough
Overburdened by the weighty metal, its breaking bones like shattering force to knock the mage from his feet,
the Bloodthirster plunged from the stone. Swift Malhandir was in motion then hacked down to cut Teclis in half.
skies, slamming into the glade floor before the beast could rise, and
with sickening force. Sunfang’s gleaming blade split the That would have been the end of
Bloodthirster’s spine. Teclis, had the axe landed. Even the
The intervention had bought mage’s protective enchantments
Caradryan the time he needed. The second Bloodthirster fared little would have been hard-pressed to
Kindling the fires of Aqshy, he coaxed better. Slamming his staff into the preserve him from an axe-blow driven
new life into Ashtari’s battered body. ground, Teclis drew upon the deep sea by a Bloodthirster’s fury. However,
With a screech that set the air ablaze, of his magical lore, and assailed the the blade halted, inches from Teclis’
the phoenix took to the air once more, daemon with sorceries drawn from body. The Bloodthirster roared again,
returning to its master’s side at speed. the eight winds. Fire and lightning this time in frustration. In the moment

164 | Chapter 4
before his blow had landed, thick
roots had burst from the glade’s rich
soil, wending their way around his
forearm and binding it fast.

Surprised at the sudden reprieve,

Teclis rolled wearily away from
the axe-blade and searched for the
source of his sudden salvation. He
did not have to look far. A short
distance away, he saw Alarielle risen
to her knees, one palm pressed hard
against the glade floor, the other
outstretched towards the creature that
had so nearly been Teclis’ doom. The
Everqueen’s face was lined and pale,
the strain of Athel Loren’s pain still
heavy upon her, but her expression
was as unflinching as oak.

With a guttural snarl, the

Bloodthirster tore his arm free,
but more roots burst from the sod,
ensnaring both arms and one of his
legs. Muscles bulging, the daemon
tore his axe-hand free, then hacked
down to free his other limbs. Teclis
heard Alarielle utter a curse so vile
that he could hardly believe she knew
it, then clench her outstretched hand.
Before the Bloodthirster could pull
free, dozens more roots joined those
that already entangled him.

The daemon roared in pain as the

roots burrowed deep into his flesh.
Ichor spurted in all directions as his
massive frame violently convulsed.
Teclis moved to Alarielle’s side,
trying to help her regain her feet,
but she shook him away. As the
Bloodthirster’s roars reached a
crescendo, the Everqueen splayed
her clenched fingers wide. At once,
the roots ripped free of the daemon’s
flesh, the sudden movement tearing
the creature apart. The roots flailed
for a moment as chunks of daemon
rained down, then they collapsed
lifeless to the ground.

Alarielle was not yet done. With one

swift look, she took in the full horror
sweeping King’s Glade. Then, closing
her eyes, she reached deep into the
grove’s living heart.
 King’s Glade was sacred not only converged from all sides, ponderously down on where Teclis and Alarielle
to the elves. In ancient times, it had at first, but faster and faster as their sheltered, his axe raised high, poised
been the meeting place of the forest’s gnarled feet thudded home into for the killing blow. One of the ancient
elders. It was here that their councils the sod. Bloodletters scattered like guardians moved to confront the
were held, the silent communion of deadwood in the teeth of a gale, their daemon, interposing itself between
immeasurably old minds seeking wiry bodies flung through the air the Incarnates and their attacker.
out the best way to guide the forest. by the bone-crushing impact of the Ka’Bandha’s whirling hammer-flail
Such reckonings had ceased with charge. Flesh hounds were kicked smashed down with a whistling crack,
the coming of the elves, and many of aside or trampled underfoot, and and the treeman’s left arm exploded
the ancients had slipped away into juggernauts crumpled like tin. in a storm of charred splinters. Before
dream-tossed slumber. They had the ancient could react, Ka’Bandha’s
not awakened in all the long years Only where the treemen met the axe hacked deep into the thick bark
since, but never before had Athel Bloodthirsters did their onslaught of its neck, all but severing its head.
Loren come so close to destruction. slow. Each of the greater daemons The treeman uttered a hollow, hooting
Alarielle could not have torn these was a shard of Khorne’s limitless moan, and toppled sideways, like an
ancient guardians from their dreams wrath made flesh. They were mighty oak felled by a lumberjack’s axe.
by herself. However, she did not call beyond mortal ken, and possessed of
them forth alone. The shared mind a determination as endless as Chaos Alarielle reach forth with her healing
of Athel Loren, reeling from the itself. It was a battle not seen since magics, but she was too weak from
horrendous psychic scar of the Blood the first Chaos incursion – immortal her recent exertions. The ancient’s
Hunt’s arrival, lent its urgency to hers, giants from a distant age fighting for mighty soul slipped away into
forming a summons that only the the fate of the mortal world. As the oblivion before she could mend its
dead could ignore. Alarielle allowed battle raged, bloodletters and flesh terrible wounds. So intent was the
herself a grim smile, and then sagged, hounds were crushed by the score, Everqueen on her task that she would
exhausted. Teclis again tried to help their fate of no concern to their have perished in that moment, had
the Everqueen to her feet; this time, monstrous masters. The Incarnates Teclis not hauled her clear of the
she allowed him to do so. and their allies fared little better. treeman’s falling corpse. As it was,
Twice, Arkhan was nearly swatted the shock wave of the guardian’s
A battle cry sounded, one not from the sky by the backdraught fall knocked both elves sprawling. A
heard for long centuries. It was of a Bloodthirster’s wing, and only moment later, Ka’Bandha’s hooves
deep and sonorous, the rumble Malhandir’s speed saved Tyrion from slammed down mere feet away.
of a distant avalanche magnified being stomped flat by a treeman’s
ten-thousandfold. All around the mournful collapse. Teclis called forth the lightning once
glade, trees began to move, their more. Jagged bolts split the sky,
roots tearing free of the clammy The Bloodthirsters hacked and hewed smiting Ka’Bandha across the wings
ground, their bark flexing into half- at the guardians’ thick hides, the and brow. Hissing magic crackled
remembered shapes. In ones and daemon-forged weapons searing the across the Bloodthirster’s armour,
twos, the ancient guardians jarred treemen’s flesh wherever they cut. In and sparks played across his runic
awake, sleep falling from their return, the guardians smashed at the crown. However, the daemon did not
sedentary minds. Again the battle cry daemons with massive, haymaking so much as slow. Flames poured from
sounded, and this time more voices punches, buckling armour and his nostrils and fanged maw as he
took up the call until the ground pulverising ruddy flesh with each strode towards his prey, giving voice
shook with its fury. The sound faded, strike. The ground trembled and to a black and terrible laughter that
but the tremors did not. In a moment shook as each weighty blow crashed promised only death.
of sudden clarity, Teclis realised that home. Treemen toppled as their
it was not the battle cry that caused limbs were hacked apart, bloodletters Two more guardians bore down
the quake; rather, it was the result of a swarming over their dying forms to upon Ka’Bandha from his left and
forest on the move. claim the kill. Bloodthirsters spat right. Without slowing, Ka’Bandha
thick black ichor and fell dying, their hammered his axe deep into the
Another foe might have fled in that ribs stove in or skulls fractured by a leftmost treeman’s moss-clad torso,
hour, but not the Blood Hunt. They guardian’s hammer-blow. then severed its leg with a second,
feared little save the wrath of Khorne punishing blow. Fast as he was, the
himself, and met the onrushing At last, Ka’Bandha joined the battle. daemon could not turn swiftly enough
treemen with as much savage gusto The thunder of his wings was the to face the second guardian. With
as they had every foe so far. It cost beat of doom, his roar of challenge a deep and foreboding rumble, the
them dearly. The ancient guardians the fury of the mountains. He bore treeman locked the fingers of both

166 | Chapter 4
hands together, and slammed them from his snout. The treeman uttered torso and limbs. No ordinary fires
down onto the corded muscle of no sound, but its heaving limbs were these. They were birthed
Ka’Bandha’s neck. creaked and cracked like a forest from the dark and wrathful heat of
in the teeth of a gale. At their feet, Khorne’s forge, and the guardian’s
Ka’Bandha staggered beneath the Teclis shifted tactics. Abandoning his flesh instantly set alight wherever
blow, but did not fall. With a rippling storm-summons, he called out to the they touched. The vines binding
growl, the Bloodthirster span around Wind of Beasts, imploring it to lend its Ka’Bandha’s arms withered and
to face this second foe, paying no wild power to the embattled guardian. shrank beneath that fury; the thick
heed to the bolts of lightning that Compared to the other winds, Ghur bark of the guardian’s skin blackened
Teclis still called down upon him. blew weakly across Athel Loren that and caught light. With a flame-etched
Again, the daemon’s axe lashed out, day, but Teclis seized what little howl of triumph, the Bloodthirster
but this time his opponent was too there was and bound it to his will. At at last wrenched his arms free,
swift. Vine-laced fingers latched once, new strength poured into the the treeman’s limbs exploding into
around the Bloodthirster’s axe arm guardian’s limbs and the titanic battle charred cinder as he did so.
as the blow scythed home, binding it between treeman and daemon began
fast. Ka’Bandha roared with fury, and to shift. Ka’Bandha’s straining arms This time, it was Alarielle who pulled
lashed out with his hammer-flail. But were forced back inch by inch. The Teclis clear as the fragments of a
the guardian had expected that too, Bloodthirster’s hooves gouged at the once-mighty treeman rained down
and pinioned the daemon’s second ground beneath his feet as he sought around them. Small fires broke out in
arm much as he had the first. fresh purchase. the grass where the blazing wreckage
landed, the fumes rising from
For a long moment, Ka’Bandha and A low-pitched rumble began them thick and somehow metallic.
the guardian stood almost motionless, somewhere deep in Ka’Bandha’s Ka’Bandha was a black shadow
each bringing the full fury of their chest. It grew rapidly, and then against the smoke. With a rumbling
formidable strength to bear against burst from his fanged maw as a roar, the Bloodthirster turned towards
the other. The Bloodthirster growled torrent of deep and ruddy flame that the elves once more, and sprang
like storm-torn skies, steam rising washed hungrily over his opponent’s forward, wings outstretched.

Chapter 4 | 167
 T eclis froze as the Bloodthirster swept towards him, the wiry shadows
of bloodletters running close behind. The mage had fought countless
daemons over the course of his long life, but never one so utterly unfazed
by his magics. What more was there to do? the mage wondered.
‘Run!’ Teclis heard Alarielle shout from behind him, but the mage made
no move.
What was the point, if there was no hope?
Suddenly, he was staggering backwards as the Everqueen hauled hard
on his robes. The downdraught of the Bloodthirster’s wings was a baleful
wind. Alarielle’s staff flared. Jagged roots burst from the glade floor,
impaling the daemon in a dozen places.
The Bloodthirster uttered a sound that was more sneer than pain. He
hacked at the makeshift spears and tore himself free, ignoring the ichor
that burst from the ragged wounds.
Something shifted in Teclis’ mind as the daemon’s hammer-flail
smashed down towards them, and he at last resurfaced from his fugue.
There was a discordant chime as the hammer-blow glanced off the
mage’s hastily summoned shield. The enchantment shattered in the same
moment, leaving Teclis and Alarielle defenceless once more.
The Bloodthirster raised his hammer for a second blow, then paused as
a new voice rang out.
‘Let them be, abomination! Mine is the skull you’ve come to claim!’
Then there was an ear-splitting screech and a blur of feathers, as
Deathclaw slammed into the Bloodthirster and bore him bodily away into
the smoke.

Alarielle and Teclis would have surely and growing closer all the time, and
perished had it not been for the he was surely not coming alone. The
Emperor’s intervention. So intent had Incarnates merely had to hold out
Ka’Bandha been on the elves, that until help arrived – if, indeed, they
he scarcely saw Deathclaw until it were able to do so.
was too late. Back the Bloodthirster
skidded through the ruin of his All across the glade, the treemen
victims. The griffon’s talons were heard Alarielle’s call, and moved to
sunk deep in his chest, and its obey. Those nearest to the glade’s
powerful beak gouged and snapped heart locked their limbs together
at his neck. The Emperor leaned low and set their roots deep, forming a
in his saddle, the Reikland runefang living fortress behind whose walls the
stabbing through Ka’Bandha’s armour Everqueen and her allies could shelter.
and into the thick muscle beyond. Meanwhile, other treemen bent their
efforts to rescuing those who could
The Everqueen silently cursed the not rely on the swift wings of dragon,
Emperor’s brashness, even as she griffon or phoenix. To the north, an
whispered thanks for his intervention. indignant Vlad was hoisted into the
Robbed of Azyr’s power, the human air as a gnarled fist closed about his
was no match for the Bloodthirster. cloak. Flesh hounds snapped briefly
Yet Alarielle was determined to ensure at the vampire’s heels, and then their
his bravery was not wasted. Calling quarry was gone, carried southwards
out to the surviving guardians, she by a guardian’s long strides. Lileath
bade them retreat to the centre of the and Hammerson were rescued in
glade. The Incarnates alone could not similar fashion – the former with
defeat a daemonic host of this size rather more grace than the latter.
unprepared, but there were armies Only Teclis and Alarielle were left to
of elves, men and even dwarfs in make their way on foot, and then only
Athel Loren. She could feel Durthu’s because Ka’Bandha had slain all the
presence less than a league hence, guardians close by.
Elsewhere, Alarielle’s fear for the closing around Teclis and bearing him flesh shredded. Cursing, Vlad lurched
Emperor was swiftly justified. away towards the fortress of trees at to his feet. He was almost crushed
Ka’Bandha soon recovered from the glade’s heart. Gelt and Caradryan flat as Hammerson’s treeman, its
the initial surprise of Deathclaw’s were there already, borne to safety leg sheared off by a cackling skull,
onslaught. His daemon-axe lashed on their steeds’ swift wings. Of collapsed a hand’s breadth away.
out, tearing a bloody wound along Arkhan and Nagash, the Emperor saw As the dwarf struggled free of his
the griffon’s flank. With a screech of nothing. Alarielle, he left behind at her saviour’s ruin, a shadow fell across
pain, Deathclaw let go his grasp on own insistence. As the griffon sped him. As one, the vampire and the
the Bloodthirster’s flesh, wings beating away, the Emperor saw the Everqueen runesmith looked up as a roaring
frantically as he tried to get clear. The advance on the Bloodthirster, jade Bloodthirster swooped towards them.
sudden motion hurled the Emperor light flaring from her hands as she
forward in his saddle. It was well it did brought her own magics to bear. Further east, Arkhan the Black saw
so. At the same moment, Ka’Bandha’s his fellow Mortarch’s plight, but made
hammer-flail arced through the space no attempt to assist him. Instead, he
the Emperor had lately occupied, the turned Razarak towards the glowing
force of its passage threatening to spill column of amethyst magic that
him from the griffon’s back entirely. marked where his master fought, and
abandoned the vampire to his fate.
Ka’Bandha was on his feet once more,
laughter rumbling from his cracked Lileath too saw Vlad and
and ichor-stained lips. He had Hammerson’s plight as she reached
weathered the worst of the human’s the living fortress, and sent her
assault, and now the Emperor’s skull treeman back to aid them. Yet she
would be his. could see it would arrive too late.
Caradryan and Gelt were faster,
Suddenly, a cloud of roiling shadow turning their winged steeds to the
enveloped Ka’Bandha. It took the north once more. Another volley of
form of a vast, crowned face with skulls met their charge. Ashtari was
eyes that glowed like the winter sun. swift enough to evade the salvo,
Each mote of darkness stabbed at picking a path through the blazing
the Bloodthirster’s flesh like a barbed wakes. Quicksilver was not so
needle, but that was nothing to the fortunate – a glancing blow shattered
pain that followed a heartbeat later. his outstretched wing. With a
Even as the billowing apparition supreme effort, the pegasus managed
swallowed Ka’Bandha, a searing to glide groundward without suffering
brightness burst into life from the A crash of timber in the north further injury, but he would fly no
Bloodthirster’s right. Through half- heralded the arrival of the last of more that day.
blinded eyes, the daemon glimpsed Ka’Bandha’s Blood Hunt. These were
a figure on horseback, closing in no ordinary daemons, but engines When the Emperor and Teclis
on him with impossible speed. of brass and shimmering heat, of reached the living fortress moments
Caught between light and shadow, thumping pistons and fang-muzzled later, defeat was sliding swiftly into
Ka’Bandha sank to one knee, roaring cannons. The war engines opened disaster. The Incarnates and their
in frustration and fury. fire upon entering the glade. Skulls allies were more scattered than
screamed and whined through the ever, with neither sight nor sound
The Emperor experienced a rare air, contrails of molten metal and of friendly warriors to offer hope.
moment of hesitation as he saw immortal fire rippling behind. They Nagash still refused to accept or lend
Malekith and Tyrion transfix the crashed home against the living aid. Worst of all, Ka’Bandha now had
Bloodthirster. He knew he had taken fortress of treemen, tearing deep the measure of his foes. The magics
a dangerous chance by engaging into their flesh. But it was outside the of light, shadow and life stung at his
Ka’Bandha in battle, but it was not wall of guardians that the sudden flesh, but mere pain could not him at
in his nature to let others risk their bombardment took the heaviest toll. bay forever.
lives in his stead. Only Alarielle’s
urgent calls prevented him from the Vlad’s treeman was struck by six Nothing less than a miracle could
joining the fight once more. Guiding skulls at once. It disintegrated in a rescue the situation now. Gritting his
Deathclaw to the south, the Emperor storm of thick splinters that cast the teeth, the Emperor sought out Teclis
swooped low, the griffon’s talons vampire to the ground, his undead in order to demand one.

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 ‘W e’re out of time,’ the Emperor shouted over the
roar and whine of daemonic cannons. Without
waiting for a reply, he swung from Deathclaw’s saddle
a little to the left of her breastbone. ‘There,’ she said,
with a wan smile. ‘The perfect spot. Are you prepared?’
‘No,’ Teclis replied. Then he thrust the dagger home
and ran to stand between Teclis and Lileath. before his nerve could fail him.
‘Use your magic,’ he implored. ‘We must attempt to Lileath’s back arched as the blade slid between her
reach Middenheim whilst enough of us are still whole ribs. She gave a strangled, gasping cry. Teclis let go of
enough to fight.’ the dagger’s hilt, and the dying goddess fell forward
Teclis scowled. ‘I told you before. It cannot be done. against him. Her breaths, shallow and rasping, were
Magic springs from Chaos. Even if I could draw upon loud in his ears; her blood pulsed over his hands.
that much power, the resulting rift would bring about Teclis closed his eyes, and tried to ignore Lileath’s
the very doom we seek to prevent.’ small, choked sounds. Blood ran down the mage’s arms,
‘Then what do you suggest?’ the Emperor demanded. seeped through his robes, warm and slick against his
‘The daemons will keep coming until all of us are dead, skin. The goddess’ fading divinity danced across the
and the world will fall soon after!’ landscape of Teclis’ thoughts like a brisk wind, begging
Teclis had no answer for that. After years of planning, to be unleashed. Teclis tried to seize that power, but
events were moving too swiftly. Too late, he was it slipped from his grasp like smoke. Again and again
realising that not everything could be anticipated. he tried, as Lileath’s breathing grew slower and more
‘There is a way,’ Lileath said softly. ‘My body may be erratic. Fear of failure thickened like bile in the mage’s
mortal, but my blood and spirit are still divine. These throat, and desperation threatened to overwhelm him.
contain the power you require.’ Then a voice whispered in Teclis’ mind, calming and
‘Innocent blood...’ the Emperor muttered, his face lost confident. At first he thought it was Lileath’s spirit, but
in recollection. then he realised the voice was deeper, stronger. A golden
Lileath shook her head. ‘I am no innocent. Though light shone suddenly in the darkness of the mage’s mind,
I did only what the times demanded, I have betrayed and this time Lileath’s divinity did not evade his grasp.
those who trusted me. I could not carry those evils into Teclis heard the goddess-made-mortal utter one last,
the Haven – it is only fitting that I atone for them now.’ croaking cry, felt her body convulse one final, terrible
‘But you will die,’ Teclis objected. time, and then fall still.
‘This is the Rhana Dandra. We are all fated to die. Lileath was dead, but Teclis had her last divine spark
Does the order of our passing matter so very much?’ in his grasp. The mage was overwhelmed. His mind
‘You are the last of our gods. You have been my guide, soared high above Athel Loren. Far below, he saw the
my light. You cannot ask this of me.’ embattled mortals as bright pinpricks of light against
Lileath reached out a hand, and touched the tips of a dark tide, the Incarnates almost blinding in their
her fingers to the mage’s cheek. ‘Dear Teclis, you have brilliance. He witnessed the battles raging across King’s
served me so well, though I have not deserved it. Grant Glade, their details clear even from that seemingly
me this last boon.’ incredible distance.
Teclis, lost in a world of his own private sorrow, made The guardian ancients had been almost overrun, the
no answer. strewn wreckage of bark and tree-flesh testament to
‘He’ll do it,’ said the Emperor. their opponents’ savagery. Gelt was trapped beyond the
Teclis rounded on him, furious. ‘You do not speak for safety of the living fortress by Quicksilver’s mangled
me, and know not what you ask.’ wing, sheltering beneath a golden dome. The wizard’s
The Emperor held his ground, unflinching. ‘If there’s arms were spread wide in effort, and shuddered with
a chance, we have to take it. Like she says, all of us will each axe- and hammer-blow upon the glittering shield.
be dead soon enough, whatever happens.’ Ka’Bandha snarled and raged as he forced his way
As if to confirm his words, one of the ancients that free from the combined magics of Tyrion, Malekith
formed their shelter was struck by skull cannon-fire. and Alarielle. Hammerson and Vlad held their ground
The giant’s torso was blown apart, scattering blazing against another Bloodthirster’s berserk charge, the
bark across those who sheltered beneath him. vampire’s strikes as swift and precise as the dwarf’s
Teclis’ thoughts were racing, but the wisdom of the were heavy. Nagash, who alone amongst the Incarnates
Emperor’s words closed about him like a vice. Numbly, shone almost as darkly as the daemons he fought,
he accepted the dagger that Lileath pressed into his seized another Bloodthirster in an amethyst grasp, and
hands. The goddess sank to her knees, and beckoned crushed the creature’s bones to powder.
Teclis to face her. Teclis saw his own blood-soaked body, deep within
‘It cannot be a swift death,’ Lileath said. ‘When my the ring of surviving ancients. It was still, almost as
spirit passes, my divinity will pass with it, and your lifeless as the corpse he held in his hands. He saw the
moment will be lost.’ She placed both of her hands Emperor kneeling behind him. The man too was almost
around Teclis’, guiding the dagger’s point until it rested as motionless. One of his gauntleted hands rested on

170 | Chapter 4
Teclis’ shoulder. At first, the mage took it as a gesture of
support. Then he remembered the golden light that had
come to his aid, and he suddenly knew much that had
been hidden from his sight.
Even as Teclis took in his allies’ plight, his mind
danced across the winds of magic with a deftness he
had never before known. With Lileath’s divinity serving
as his loom, he wove the threads of magic into a spell
far greater than any he had thought possible. Even
Teclis, as its creator, did not understand the full scope of
his labours. Each step was driven by an instinct he had
never before possessed.
Then, as swiftly as it had arrived, the last spark of
Lileath began to fade, and Teclis’ certainty dissipated
with it. The mage’s thoughts began to throb with a
sudden pain, as the magics he had harnessed threatened
to overwhelm him. He worked feverishly, trying to
complete his work before the knowledge left him
entirely. There was no time for delay. The spell was
unravelling faster than it had been woven.
Teclis reached out for pinpricks of light that were the
Incarnates, gathering them up in the tapestry’s folds.
He knew that they would not be enough, not against
the forces that awaited them. Even though the spell was
slipping from his grasp, the mage reached out a second
time, gathering up as many of Athel Loren’s defenders as
he could. Then, in the moment that the last skeins of the
spell tore loose, Teclis flung all those he had gathered
towards Middenheim, and whispered a prayer to the
goddess he had slain. Only then did he succumb to the
pressure in his mind, and collapse into darkness.

T eclis awoke face-down against cold stone, his head

throbbing with pain. The only light came from
guttering torches somewhere above his head, and the
metallic tang of blood was thick upon the air.
Teclis tried to stand, but iron manacles bit into
his wrists. The best he could do was to hunch into a
kneeling position. The mage felt no fear – his heart was
too heavy with the bitterness of failure to accomodate
any other emotion.
‘He stirs, lord.’ A hooded figure loomed out of the
shadows, the twisted metal of his mask gleaming in the
feeble torchlight. His voice was obsequious, his posture
locked in a permanent half-bow. As his weary eyes grew
used to the darkness, Teclis saw that the sorcerer bore
his own stolen staff and sword.
Teclis followed the sorcerer’s gaze through the
shadows, past the pit of seething, hissing blood to the
throne of skulls that lay at the chamber’s far end. A
heavily armoured figure, more imagined than seen in the
darkness, rose from the throne, the empty eyes of his
golden helm unreadable.
‘You have journeyed a long way to die, elf,’ intoned
Archaon. ‘But do not despair. The world shall not long
outlast you.’

Chapter 4 | 171
 Teclis’ spell had been ruined streets. Thus they drove their
more successful than he followers hard for the centre of the
first realised. In the last city, to the chasm that Archaon had
moments before Lileath’s torn in the Fauschlag rock.
divinity had faded, he had indeed
transported the Incarnates – and Of all the Incarnates, Caradryan was
many of their followers – to storm- pitched into the direst of situations.
lashed Middenheim. Unfortunately, His army had emerged upon what
the spell had slipped from the mage’s remained of the Ulricsmund, on the
control in the last moments, and very edge of the great excavation.
the magical vortices had scattered There was no time for words, even if
his allies all across the Chaos-held the Incarnate had been much given to
city. None amongst the Incarnates uttering them. Scarcely had the storm
knew for certain that the others had of magic ebbed when Caradryan’s
survived. This was ill-fortune indeed, elves found themselves assailed
but it was leavened by two factors. by axe-wielding Skaramor, and
Firstly, even whilst the energies of the black-armoured Kurgan tribesmen.
spell collapsed, Teclis had maintained The yawning chasm of the great
enough control to ensure that each excavation lay to their back. There
Incarnate arrived alongside allies. could be no retreat, and if help did
In some cases, these were potent not arrive soon, Caradryan knew that
warbands – in others, full-fledged even the power caged in his body
armies. Furthermore, the Incarnates’ would be no guarantor of survival.
sudden arrival in the Chaos-held
city was something that none within In that moment, the burden of Aqshy
its walls could have foreseen – save felt even heavier than it had before,
perhaps Kairos Fateweaver, slain at and Caradryan realised that therein
Archaon’s hand some weeks before. lay his salvation. Unlike the other
elemental powers of magic, fire did
There was little time for the not diminish as it was divided, but
Incarnates to bring order to grew stronger as it spread. As the
their forces, and none at all for black banners pressed in against his
explanations. Each led through lines, the Incarnate of Fire reached
example of courage and purpose, and into his soul and split the power of
trusted to their warriors to follow. All Aqshy a thousand fold. The largest
save Nagash, that was. As ever, the part he kept for himself, and the rest
Great Necromancer’s command over he cast like seeds across his host. At
his minions was absolute. From the once, flickering flame burst into life
fire-blistered ruins of Westgate to the along keen blades of ithilmar steel;
Neumarkt slave pens, the invaders fell bodies blazed with new strength and
mercilessly upon Archaon’s horde. spirits rose with purpose renewed.
Surprise was theirs for the moment,
but all knew that the Everchosen’s Kurgan chieftains – many of whom
superior numbers would quickly tell. had been surprised out of sleep
– bellowed orders, driving their
Thus, as an angry red dusk fell upon warriors to the excavation’s edge. The
the Fauschlag, and lightning seared northlanders made a ragged attempt
the sky, Middenheim erupted into to trap the new Host of Fire against
slaughter. Each of the Incarnates the edge of the abyss, to crush them
fought with the same goal. All like the weaklings they believed them
had glimpsed the scar of the great to be. But the advantage of surprise
excavation, or else the spoil heaps remained with Caradryan. He did not
and death-pits that marked its wait for his foes upon the cliff face,
perimeter. All knew that the battle and instead loosed the Host of Fire in
for Middenheim – the battle for the a headlong charge against the heart of
world – could not be won in the the onrushing horde.
The elves struck the leading Kurgan the swarm wished to face the Eternity miserable wretches, fit for nothing
warbands like a searing wind. A King’s fell-handed warriors without a save the lash. Gelt, Caradryan and
tidal wave of flame was their herald, claw-band of spears at his back. Only Alarielle would have taken pity and
roaring and angry. Flesh blistered one warlord, drunk on warpstone set the captives free. Tyrion and the
and armour fused where it struck, the snuff and ambition, had dared face Emperor would have looked upon the
screams of the dying melding with Malekith blade-to-blade. His mangled slaves as an army, ready to seek their
the sizzle and crack of burning skin. remains now languished in Seraphon’s vengeance against those who had
Flames streamed behind the axes and gullet, and the horror of his dying trampled their land and slain their kin.
halberds that hacked the northlanders moments – rather than his courage – Nagash, however, gazed across the
apart. The leading warbands were dictated his survivors’ behaviour. stinking slave pens, and saw only raw
swept away in moments, consigned materials. The Great Necromancer
to oblivion by elves seemingly made Further to the north, Nagash brought reached out a hand, and amethyst fire
more of fire than mortal flesh. Other his gift of death to the northlanders washed across Neumarkt, choking the
northmen threw down their weapons encamped in Neumarkt. Teclis’ spell life from all it touched. The screams
and fled, ready – in that moment, had reached to Athel Loren’s eastern reached a fever pitch, then died away
at least – to risk the Dark Gods’ border – and even beyond, though to nothing.
disfavour in place of the wrath of the few yet knew it – and dragged the
flame-wreathed elves. Further down Great Necromancer’s army to his side. Nagash’s army had doubled in size at
the slope, however, the Skaramor saw The fur-clad northmen had thought a stroke, and it pressed on through
the Kurgan break apart and sneered themselves safe in Archaon’s new Neumarkt, into the fire-scorched
at their weakness. Let the elves invoke fortress. They were heavy with sleep wasteland that had once been the
whatever power they wished, so long and ale, and thus died swiftly. Krell Great Park. There, amongst the burnt-
as they bled. and the Doomed Legion showed no out trees, the Great Necromancer
mercy to those who had once been met the first serious challenge to his
their kinsmen. Cursed grave-steel advance. Thick ranks of steel shields
chopped down through greasy fur and lined the park’s eastern overlook,
crude armour, and the Host of Death the close-helmed warriors chanting
marched on. and singing to drown their fear of the
undead. Sorcerers traced forbidden
Arkhan and Nagash advanced in the sigils in the air. The shapes glowed
Doomed Legion’s wake, their sorceries and sparked for a heartbeat before
breathing new life into the slain. Few bursting into sudden fire that seared
buildings stood in this region of the through the oncoming dead. Nagash’s
city, and those that did had been recently-resurrected zombies burned
repurposed to serve as slave pens. and blistered beneath the sorcerous
The captives were clad in the ragged assault. Neither Arkhan nor the Great
and faded uniforms of a dozen states, Necromancer spared even a fragment
their fate to have survived whilst more of concern for their fate. All who
fortunate companions had perished marched in the Host of Death were
beneath northland axes. Now the expendable, and the zombies were
slaves saw desperate northlanders more so than most.
flooding past their cages’ ramshackle
gates, and felt a long-forgotten hope. Shuffling corpses collapsed as the
Malekith saw the fires leap into the They shouted and cheered as their flames overtook them. From the
sky, but spared little thought for fear-stricken captors poured towards overlook, it seemed as if the greater
what they portended. The Eternity the city’s heart, believing that their part of the undead army was ablaze,
King’s host fought southeast of the moment of freedom was nigh. But and so it was. But Arkhan laboured
Ulricsmund, where the skaven had cries of hope turned to screams of to ensure that the magic driving the
made a squalid nest of the Wynd’s abject terror as the slaves saw that fires was smothered before the flames
tangled streets. Shadows billowed the northlanders fled not from an took root in the morghast host, or the
like smoke on the wind, and frenzied army of the Empire, but a vast tide of wights of the Doomed Legion. In the
chittering split the air as the elves the undead. meantime, Nagash’s cold gaze swept
fell upon the unprepared skaven. In across the overlook. He sought out
the streets’ tight confines, the ratmen Malekith would have ignored the each of the northlander sorcerers in
could not easily bring their advantage slaves, had chance brought him to turn, snuffing out their souls with
of numbers to bear, and few amongst Neumarkt. He would have seen only twists of his bony fingers.

Chapter 4 | 175
 These subtleties were missed by many or were impaled on fire-blackened darted through whatever spaces
of the northlanders who mustered spikes. Some of the victims still lived, showed themselves, eager to carry
on the overlook. They saw only the mewling pitifully. Their eyes had their wicked blades against the
undead horde consumed by Chaos- been taken for sport by Hellebron’s Everqueen’s forces. The skullreapers
fire. Horns and war-cries rang out worshippers, their myriad wounds were more direct, hacking down
as chieftains grew resentful that crafted to prolong their sweet agony. their own bestial allies to reach the
the sorcerers were claiming all the Others had been dead for days, their enemy beyond. And in the thick of
battle’s glory. Clouds of ash were skulls claimed for Khorne and their the seething, blood-slicked bodies,
hurled skyward as thousands of hearts devoured by the Blood Queen Hellebron herself screeched and
running feet pounded down through or her handmaidens. Even Vlad, screamed her hatred at the Everqueen
the fire-twisted trees, the noise of steeped in blood though he was, who had slighted her.
their footfalls lost beneath bellowed found the sight distasteful. There was
oaths and battle cries. Knights put no artistry, no discernible purpose to Alarielle stood at the battle’s heart.
spurs to the flanks of their murderous the slaughter, which made it wasteful Jade life-magics flowed from her
steeds. Great mutated beasts of the in his eyes. hands, reknitting wounds and
north were loosed from their chains restoring her fallen warriors to fight
and charged roaring down the slope. The vampire passed through the anew. She had given much of herself
Northlanders crashed into the charred blood-sodden gardens like a ghost, during the battle for King’s Glade,
and fleshy mass, barging zombies cloaking himself in shadow so as not and that sacrifice now cost both
aside. Axes swung and hacked, to be glimpsed. Sounds of battle were Alarielle and her followers dearly.
felling the fire-marred dead by the echoing through the ruddy skies, and It was plain to Vlad that Alarielle’s
score. Soon, the last of the zombies every figure the vampire observed – power was fading fast. Even from his
had been cut down, or else trampled be it plate-armoured northlander, or perch atop the Middenplatz’s northern
underfoot. With a thunderous clang, feral witch elf – was running south gatehouse, the vampire could see
the northlanders’ shields met those through the gardens. So fixed were the how pale and drawn the Everqueen
of the Doomed Legion, and the true cultists on joining the slaughter, that appeared. She would have fallen long
battle began. few had eyes for the shadows beneath ago, or so Vlad suspected, had not
the blood-smeared walls. It therefore the indomitable Durthu stood like a
Whilst Nagash strove in the ruins took Vlad little effort to conceal breakwater against the howling tide
of the Great Park, Vlad walked himself, which was all to the good, that lapped around her. The treeman’s
unseen to the north. The vampire as far as the vampire was concerned. mighty fists and gleaming sword
had been separated from his master Confident in his skills though he was, brought death upon any who sought
through some caprice of Teclis’ Vlad was little inclined to confront to cause the Everqueen harm, but his
desperate spell, and had been cast an army all by himself. With no other fury dissuaded none amongst the foe.
into the Palast District. Vlad knew option at hand, he followed the tide
Middenheim well, had walked its of berserkers and cultists south, sure Vlad had fought many battles, and
streets many times under night’s cool that he would find allies – even if he witnessed many more. He knew a
veil. Nevertheless, little remained was uncertain that they would be in forlorn cause when he saw one, and
for him to recognise. The gardens any state to aid him. saw little reason to throw his life
and mansions of the Palast, once the away in service of the one playing
finest in Middenheim, were now lost Vlad’s assumption was correct – out before him. An army was needed
beneath charnel and torture. allies did await him south of the to alter Alarielle’s fate. One warrior
Palast District. In the heart of the alone – even one of Vlad’s skill –
The fugitive Blood Queen, Hellebron, Middenplatz, Alarielle’s Host of would change nothing.
had made the Palast her new temple. Life was beset by a howling tide of
Many of the Skaramor amongst beastmen and blood cultists. The No sooner had the thought formed in
Archaon’s horde had recognised her Host of Life was badly overmatched, Vlad’s mind, than there was a roar of
madness as a gift from Khorne, and surrounded on every side by roaring cannons, and the entire eastern wall
worshipped her as they had once beasts. Treemen traded booming of the Middenplatz blew apart. Jagged
worshipped the Gorequeen, Valkia. blows with four-armed giants. boulders flew across the square,
The blood of allies and enemies had Braying gor-bands hewed at dryads trailing dust and shards of stone.
flowed in these gardens as nowhere with crude-edged axes. Whistling Beastmen brayed and screamed as
else. Lacerated offerings hung from arrow volleys arced across the ruddy they were crushed beneath falling
gore-slicked trees, or lay chained skies, thudding into horned skulls masonry, or pulverised by defaced
in pools of bubbling blood. Bodies and mutated flesh. Hellebron’s forces statues of Ulric that had graced the
hung from gibbets and crows-cages, too had joined the fight. Witch elves summit. Before the stones had come

176 | Chapter 4
to rest, sharp cracks of gunfire cut Elsewhere, fate – or at least, the
through the tumult. Bullets spat vagaries of Teclis’ spell – had brought
through the spiralling dust, and Tyrion and the Emperor beneath the
gromril armour gleamed in the murk. shadow of the western wall. The two
New voices sounded beyond the wall’s Incarnates materialised almost within
ruins, their Khazalid battle cries dour sight of one another, and certainly
and dolorous. close enough for the Emperor to
recognise the proud banners of
Vlad watched as the dwarfs began Caledor and Lothern flying at Tyrion’s
their charge, saw the golden gleam side. Between them, squealing
of Gelt’s mask amongst the runic skaven boiled forth from their filthy
banners. An army had been needed, nests in the wall’s barrack rooms
and now an army there was. and magazine tunnels. Lumbering,
Shrugging his acceptance, the vampire armoured rat ogres towered over
prepared to slip from the gatehouse to scurrying slaves, vile oils seeping
join the battle that was raging below, across lank fur as their prosthetic
unaware of the eyes that tracked his weapons began to whine and spark.
every movement.
The Emperor had seen such twisted
Mannfred von Carstein had arrived beasts before, had fought them
in Middenheim a few days earlier, all altogether too many times upon the
but recovered from his trials in Athel walls of conquered Averheim. Tyrion
Loren. Archaon had accepted the had not, but he recognised at once the
vampire’s allegiance readily, but had evils the weaponised rat ogres could
since then missed few opportunities wreak. As one, the Incarnates hurled
to remind the vampire of his place. their knights against the disordered
Mannfred’s comfort in his new station mass of skaven.
would have been shaken further had
he realised that Archaon’s plan was As yet, the ratmen didn’t fully
not merely the world’s domination, appreciate their plight. As far as they
but its destruction. However, the were concerned, they were deep in
Everchosen had shared his true safe territory, with many thousands
intentions with few beyond his inner of allies within the immediate vicinity.
circle, and had been in no hurry to The converging hosts of knights were
speak of his goals with a turncoat no great threat; they were massively
such as Mannfred. outnumbered, destined for the bone-
pot and scavenge-pile. Just as it ever
All told, Mannfred was already had, the thought of plunder brought
regretting his decision. He had no use the skaven courage, and they levelled
for the Chaos Gods – no star shone their spears as they scurried to meet
brighter in the vampire’s personal the charge.
firmament than his own – and
servitude to a northlander warlord However, from the centre of the
was little better than labouring anarchic spear-wall, Visretch, the
beneath Nagash’s ungrateful gaze. Verminlord whose opportunist will
However, catching sight of Vlad held sway over that motley collection
amongst Middenheim’s ruins had of clanrats, recognised a danger
reminded the vampire of the true beyond that of steel and fury. It
architect of his woes. His sire had was not simply that he had felt the
always cast a long shadow, and pressure of Teclis’ spell upon the
Mannfred was tired of dwelling in winds of magic. He had, and it had
it. Before, the Great Necromancer’s caused the rat-daemon a moment
patronage had caused the younger of blinding pain. It was the taste of
von Carstein to hesitate over plans to something more than mortal amongst
eliminate his elder. Now, Mannfred the galloping ranks of the foe that
had no such qualms. seized his attention.

Chapter 4 | 177
 Too late, the Verminlord recognised On the battles raged, and on the hosts to contain their power. No one
Tyrion for what he was. Visretch Incarnates fought, through odds in Middenheim had guessed what
realised the Incarnate’s nature only heavily stacked against them. Fresh had happened to Ghur, the Wind of
in the instant before a brilliant white northlanders came screaming to the Beasts. They knew only what Teclis
light swept out from the elf’s upraised fight, reinforcing shield walls that had told them, that it had escaped
blade. At once, skaven war cries already outnumbered the foe several far to the east during the great
collapsed into screeches of panic and times over. Skaven poured from vortex’s collapse, and that it was too
pain as clanrats clapped their paws their lairs in the Fauschlag’s depths, distant to be recovered. But there
to sightless eyes. The ratmen nearest sensing victory and plunder. Daemons was nonetheless an eighth Incarnate
the oncoming knights tore at the were drawn through the thin veil of in Middenheim, and an eighth army
clawbands behind them, desperately reality, and brought fire and death to – unwittingly gathered up by Teclis’
trying to escape the terrible thunder a night already heavy with both. desperate enchantment – and the
of hooves. Rat ogres, their handlers rubble of the Merchant District shook
struggling with the sudden sensory Heroes were forged in those twilit to its fury.
overload, fired wildly into the dusk. hours, their legends carved in a
moment of supreme need, and then The eighth army, the Beast-Waaagh!,
Warpstone bullets and great gouts of forgotten forever as their deeds were did not know what had brought it
sickly emerald flame tore through the surpassed. The champions of the to Middenheim, nor how the world
air. A few found their targets amongst north earned glory as never before, teetered on the brink of oblivion. It
Tyrion’s knights, and princes of their forms rippling and changing as did not fight for a material purpose,
Caledor were hurled from their steeds, the Chaos Gods favoured them with for honour, or even in defiance of
or vanished in clouds of warpfire. new gifts. The Dark Brothers of the an encroaching doom. It hacked,
However, by far the greater part of void had seen no finer entertainment thumped and butted its way through
the barrage wasted itself on empty in many a millennia. They drank in its the city’s ruin out of no cause other
air, or spent its fury within the skaven heady brew, unconcerned that their than the joy of the fight. With every
ranks. Huge gaps opened up between plan of ages would stand or fall with foe that fell beneath its onslaught,
the ragged banners, and Tyrion – the battle’s outcome. the eighth army’s battle cry grew
who had somehow been untouched louder. It began in the pit of the
even though he rode at the charge’s As night fell, and the solitary moon stomach, a deep and feral rumble
forefront – ordered his knights to rose, the Emperor looked up to see that rose to echo from the half-
strike against those weak points. the stars shining brightly overhead. collapsed buildings. It snuffed out
He was wearier than the other the northlanders’ war cries as if they
On the far side of the skaven swarm, Incarnates, for he no longer had the were nothing, and drowned out the
the Emperor’s knights had not fared power of Azyr to lean upon, but sight maddened screeching of the skaven.
nearly so well as Tyrion’s. Here, the of those ancient, enduring celestial
ratmen had mostly kept their nerve. bodies gave him fresh strength.
Rat ogres and jezzail teams poured In truth, the battle was going far WAAAGH!
their fire into the Imperial knights. better than he had expected. He
Their efforts were marred only by and Tyrion were making slow and Orcs spilled through the streets of the
occasional – and spectacular – bloody progress towards the Temple merchant district like a green tide,
failures within firing mechanisms, of Ulric and the great excavation, and northlanders beyond counting
and their own thick gunsmoke but any progress was welcome. drowned beneath them. Nowhere in
which the thermals gusted to hide Each step, each crossroad, was won that night of blades was the slaughter
the targets. Thus was the Emperor’s only at great cost, but the resistance deeper than where the Beast-Waaagh!
charge marked by empty saddles, was somehow weaker than he had surged. Crude blades hacked down
and slewing, screaming horses, but expected. The Emperor took heart through fur-draped shields and steel
the losses served only to fuel the from this, assuming that it could only helms, the spittle-flecked furore of the
survivors’ determination. Alone of be because other Incarnates still northmen met and overwhelmed by
the warriors Teclis had brought to fought within Middenheim’s walls. In greenskin war-lust. Orcs hacked at
Middenheim that eve, they fought to this, he was correct, but even he did their foes until their choppas broke,
avenge the city as much as to any not yet understand the full meaning and then hammered at them with
other purpose. Slain fellows and the behind his assumption. bunched fists.
slighted buildings were all the spur
they needed to crush their fears and The Emperor had forgotten that eight The greenskins’ warlord fought at
charge home through the stinking winds had been freed from the vortex, their head, a massive broken-toothed
powder smoke. eight winds that had sought mortal black orc whose axe danced a bloody

178 | Chapter 4
whirlwind through the foe. Where Grimgor’s advance. Not realising that captors. For what had seemed like an
he strode, shield-walls split apart, greater threats to their master’s plan age, the daemon had been buffeted
northlander champions collapsed fought elsewhere, they met its fury through the roiling winds of magic,
headless, and the monstrous beasts of with whatever they could muster. Only tossed dizzyingly between the mortal
the north fell dismembered amongst Darkh’dwel, sly Verminlord of the and immortal realms.
their own stinking fluids. He was shadows, recognised the opportunity
tireless, and as wild as the mountains. at hand. He correctly guessed that the As Darkh’dwel began to draw off
The warlord was furious at having orcs were not yet of common purpose the Beast-Waaagh! in Malekith’s
been snatched unceremoniously from with the other invaders, and would direction, Ka’Bandha at last tore free
his granite throne, and that wrath lent fight them with as much gusto as they from the sorcerous hurricane. The
further weight to his already punishing battled the Chaos horde. Bloodthirster blazed through the air
blows. He did not truly understand the like a falling star, his impact bringing
power flowing through him, believed fresh ruin to the shattered dwellings
only that Gork’s favour was upon him. of the Grafsmund. Northlanders,
In truth, the source of the power – and expecting some new assault in that
indeed, its very presence – mattered night of harsh surprises, charged
little. Grimgor Ironhide never walked towards the crater with weapons
away from a fight. drawn, only to fall forward onto their
knees in worship as Ka’Bandha rose
The power of Ghur rippled outwards from the broken ground.
with Grimgor’s every axe-stroke, a
portion of his earth-shaking might Rubble spilled from the Bloodthirster’s
shared with those who fought with fire-scorched flesh as he dragged
him. There were not just greenskins in himself upright. Ka’Bandha was
Grimgor’s ranks, but ogres too. Their grievously wounded from the
tribes had been conquered months Incarnate’s magics and the crushing
before, and they now fought for the Mustering several skaven warlords impact of his fall, but the pain
orc as readily as they had ever battled whose naked ambition or snivelling troubled him not. The shame of
for their overtyrant. Food and fighting failure had displeased him, failure, of a skull unclaimed, burned
were the twin spurs set against Darkh’dwel ordered an assault on within the daemon’s black heart.
every ogre’s uncomplicated soul, and the Beast-Waaagh!’s eastern flank. Only the Emperor’s blood could wash
Grimgor had provided both in ever- As Grimgor’s ragged advance shifted that stain away; only his skull could
increasing amounts. to meet the new threat, so too did forestall Archaon’s dark mockery and
its course through the city veer Khorne’s unbridled rage.
Hundreds upon hundreds of towards the Wynd, and the Host of
northlanders and skaven flooded Shadow. Darkh’dwel watched the Roaring with frustration, Ka’Bandha
into the merchant district, but still battle shift from atop a temple-spire, lashed out with his hammer-flail,
the orcs could not be contained. pleased with his machinations. It pulverising a score of the kneeling
Where the armies of the other was well worth the sacrifice of a few northlanders. As if in response to
Incarnates fought with desperation, hundred clanrats to set the elves and that wrathful offering, the wind
there was something boisterous, orcs at one another’s throats. With shifted. Amidst the reek of smoke, of
even joyous, in the Beast-Waaagh!’s a chittering laugh, the Verminlord filth and of death, the Bloodthirster
war. Their confidence doubled and decamped from the spire, and went caught the scent of the Emperor’s
redoubled with every enemy banner in search of biddable troops. He blood. Ka’Bandha roared again, a
that toppled, and every northlander would let the invaders tear and gouge gut-wrenching bellow that shook
chieftain hacked down beneath each other to the point of mutual the unseated stones about him.
Grimgor’s axe. Their own casualties destruction. Only then would he seize The kneeling northlanders felt the
mounted just as a swiftly as those of victory in the Horned Rat’s name. daemon’s bloodlust flood thick and
their foes, but neither orc nor ogre hot through their veins. Throwing
paid the dead any heed. Grimgor was not the only being to back their heads, they howled in
have been unintentionally drawn into response, the cries ragged in the
Thus did the Beast-Waaagh! draw the Teclis’ enchantment. The Bloodthirster dark as their humanity slipped away.
attention of a vastly disproportionate Ka’Bandha, bound by the triple- As Ka’Bandha strode away, the
amount of the Chaos horde. To begin magics of life, shadow and light, northlanders followed, running on all
with, none of Archaon’s lieutenants had been borne up into the ether by fours as often as upon two legs. The
recognised the aimless manner of the same spell that had claimed his Blood Hunt was not yet over.

Chapter 4 | 179
Archaon knew his city was under
assault – such was the clamour, it
would have been impossible for things
to be otherwise. Yet the Lord of the
End Times made no move to join
the fighting. Middenheim had all but
served its purpose, and its defenders,
if they did but know it, were close to
outlasting their usefulness also. The
Empire was done, its childish creeds
and make-believe gods proven as the
lies they were. All that remained was
the ritual, and the final glory of the
Chaos Gods.

Yet Archaon was not so foolish as to

take victory for granted. He had no
desire to answer for the ritual’s failure
if the invaders somehow breached
the chambers beneath the Fauschlag.
Nor, it seemed, did the Chaos Gods
want to see their plans fail, for they
gathered champions to reinforce the
Everchosen’s horde.

These newcomers mustered at

the Temple of Ulric, awaiting the
Everchosen’s order. Preening Sigvald
and brutish Throgg had been plucked
from distant lands at the gods’ whims.
Isabella von Carstein had no choice.
With the daemon Bolorog bound to
her soul, she was a slave to Nurgle’s
commands, though there was little
sign that this concerned her in the
slightest. As midnight approached,
these champions of Chaos spread
out across the city at Archaon’s
command. Daemonic legions followed
close behind the new arrivals –
numbers would overwhelm the
invaders, if skill did not.

Archaon rose from his throne of

skulls, the Swords of Chaos silently
gathering to his side. With a last sneer
at Ghal Maraz, the Everchosen left the
Temple of Ulric behind, and marched
out into the battle-wracked city.

The final hours were nigh.

T he manacles were heavy, and Teclis’ wrists were
already chafed raw by their rusted loops. As the
mage staggered up the slope of the Ulricsmund, a
had become the Everchosen would have been one of the
mortal realm’s greatest heroes, had his path been but a
little different.
sudden sharp tug on the chain’s distant end made him ‘What would it matter?’ Teclis said. ‘My life and death
stumble forward, all but losing his footing on the hill’s are irrelevant now.’
broken cobblestones. How easily those words came, he thought. Was this
Around Teclis, mocking laughter echoed out from the same calm that Lileath had felt as she guided the
black-visored helms as the knights took amusement dagger between her own ribs?
from his humiliation. With either his staff or sword to Archaon stared down at Teclis. The eyelets of the
hand, the mage would have stilled their laughter, even at Everchosen’s helmet were as black as the night, limpid
the price of his own life, but both were far away, stolen pools of darkness that laid the mage’s soul bare.
by the magister who led the ceremony in the caverns ‘Let me tell you what I see,’ Archaon said. ‘I see a
beneath the Fauschlag. battle already won, and the dying spasms of an age that
Another sharp tug brought Teclis staggering to is already ended.’
Archaon’s side. The Everchosen was staring out into the He hauled on the chain once again. This time, Teclis
night, watching the blaze of light and shadow playing was unable to keep his balance, and fell heavily onto his
out across the stolen city. knees before the Everchosen.
‘Come, mage,’ Archaon said, winding the loops of ‘But maybe I am mistaken,’ Archaon mocked. ‘Does
chain tight about the pommel of his saddle. ‘Tell me one of your allies have the power to defeat all my
what you see.’ armies? For that is what shall be needed.’ He leaned low
Teclis’ gaze followed the arc of the Everchosen’s in his saddle, his voice suddenly low, conspiratorial.
outstretched hand. In truth, he could glean little from ‘Your brother, perhaps?’
the sight that his captor did not already know. Even ‘Armies are not the only expression of strength,’ Teclis
without his staff, the mage could sense the ebb and said, shaking his head. ‘And it will be the Emperor, not
flow of magics, could read the winds well enough to my brother, who brings about your doom.’
know that his conjuration had worked – albeit in a Archaon laughed at that, the booming tones soon
more haphazard manner than he would have wished. taken up by his entourage. The Everchosen let the sound
Grimgor Ironhide was a particular surprise, though in ring out for a few moments, then cut it short with a chop
hindsight Teclis realised how inevitable his arrival had of his hand.
been. However much they might have disliked it, the ‘Karl Franz is a weakling,’ he said dismissively, and
Incarnates were tied together by bonds of magic. Fate, turned his steed away.
as much as Teclis, had delivered them here, but the rest Teclis lurched to his feet as the chain between them
would be up to them. went tight once more. ‘He is not Karl Franz,’ he said, the
However, Teclis sensed that Archaon wasn’t truly words strangely clear above the distant din of battle.
interested in the answer. The warlord’s tone had carried Archaon swung around, his voice low and dangerous.
the dryness of rhetoric – he was making a heavy-handed ‘What did you say?’
point, nothing more. Not that Teclis had to play the Teclis met the Everchosen’s empty stare without
Everchosen’s game. flinching, his thoughts drifting back to the golden
‘I see the end of all you have planned,’ Teclis replied, presence at his side in King’s Glade. ‘He is not Karl
‘and the fall of your Dark Gods.’ Franz, not any longer – he is Sigmar. Did you really
Archaon laughed, a heavy and hollow sound. ‘Such believe that the Heldenhammer would do nothing as you
defiance, even now. Have you truly no fear of me?’ razed his Empire?’
Any other would have made a threat of those words, ‘SIGMAR IS A LIE!’ roared Archaon.
thought Teclis, but the Everchosen’s voice contained Teclis staggered as the back of the Everchosen’s
only honest enquiry. The man was an enigma. He gauntlet smashed into the side of his mouth. He would
cloaked himself in unyielding brutality, but there was have fallen had not the chain suddenly gone taut.
a facet to his soul that reminded Teclis of his own twin ‘We shall see,’ Teclis said calmly, recovering his
brother’s. Archaon made no gesture without cause and balance. He spat a broken tooth onto the cobbles, and
uttered no words without purpose. He was a black fire wished that he felt as confident as he sounded. He spoke
blazing at the heart of a world-consuming inferno, and no other word as the column of knights descended into
yet Teclis could not shake the feeling that the man who the blackness of the great excavation.

Chapter 4 | 181
 THE HOST THE HOST OF FIRE THE HOST OF LIFE
OF HEAVENS Caradryan, Incarnate of Fire Alarielle, Incarnate of Life
The Emperor Varandi Durthu
The Reiksguard Anointed of Asuryan on Naestra and Arahan
One brotherhood of Flamespyre Phoenix Skarana
Reiksguard Knights The Flamehearts Treeman Ancient
The Knightly Orders One regiment of Phoenix Guard The Everguard
One regiment of Knights of the The Eataine Guard Two Handmaidens of the Everqueen,
Blazing Sun, one regiment of One legion of High Elf Spearmen one regiment of Sisters of Avelorn
Knights Panther The Cinderrain The Ashenhawks
The Knights Griffon One regiment of High Elf Archers Two kinbands of Glade Guard,
One brotherhood of The Tower’s Lament one kinband of Deepwood Scouts,
Demigryph Knights One regiment of Swordmasters one kinband of Glade Riders
Corber’s Bordermen of Hoeth The Gnarled
One company of Outriders, The Last Pride One war-grove of Tree Kin
one company of Pistoliers One regiment of White Lions, Sisters of the Eternal Grove
one White Lion Chariot Three war-groves of Dryads
The Crimson Draichs The Oathkeepers
THE HOST OF DEATH One cult of Executioners One kinband of Wild Riders
Nagash, Supreme Lord of The Shrine of Sanguine Repentance of Kurnous
the Undead One Bloodwrack Shrine
Arkhan the Black, Mortarch The Guardians of the Hidden Flame
of Sacrament One kinband of Deepwood Scouts THE HOST OF LIGHT
Krell, Mortarch of Despair The Talsyn Hearthwardens Tyrion, Incarnate of Light
The Doomed Legion One kinband of Eternal Guard Imrik, Crown Prince of Caledor
One warband of Black Knights, The Dance of Flames Prince Daenyl the Unbowed
one warband of Grave Guard, One kinband of Wardancers Prince on Dragon
one warband of Skeleton Warriors Ellyrian’s Vengeance
The Silent Legion Two regiments of Ellyrian Reavers
One host of Morghast Archai The Echo of Hoofbeats
The Hollow Legion One regiment of Tiranoc Chariots
One host of Morghast Archai The Sun’s Last Rays
The Bloodmoon Legion THE HOST Two Lothern Skycutters
One host of Morghast Harbingers OF SHADOW The Knights of Alabast
The Forsworn Legion Malekith the Eternity King One regiment of Silver Helms
One host of Morghast Harbingers The Eternity Guard The Darkblade Guard
One tower of Black Guard, Two regiments of Cold One Knights
one legion of Phoenix Guard, The Spears of Talagand
THE THRONG one kinband of Wildwood Rangers One regiment of High Elf Spearmen
OF METAL The Winterborn
Balthasar Gelt, Incarnate of Metal One kinband of Sisters of the Thorn
Gotri Hammerson The Chaindancers THE BEAST-WAAAGH!
Runelord One troupe of Sisters of Slaughter Grimgor, Incarnate of Beasts
The Zhufbar Firebores The Ravenspears Da Immortulz
Three throngs of Thunderers, One vanguard of Dark Riders One vast mob of Black Orcs
one of Dwarf Warriors, The Krakensides The Mawseekers
two batteries of Cannons, One crew of Black Ark Corsairs, Two regiments of Ogres,
one battery of Organ Guns three Reaper Bolt Throwers one regiment of Ironguts,
The Ironclads The Shadows of Naggaroth one regiment of Leadbelchers
One throng of Ironbreakers, Two regiments of Darkshards Da Bigladz
one throng of Irondrakes The Revenants of Khaine One horde of Boar Boy Big ’Uns,
The Holzengard One regiment of High Elf Spearmen, two hordes of Orc Big ’Uns
One throng of Hammerers one regiment of High Elf Archers Rolling Death
The Blackwater Squadron Raema’s Vengeance Three Ogre Ironblasters
One squadron of Gyrocopters Two War Hydras, Mog Maglog
one Kharibdyss Giant

184 | Chapter 4
THE EVERCHOSEN’S THE MONSTROUS THE BLOOD HUNT
HORDE HORDE Ka’Bandha
Archaon Everchosen Throgg Wrath of Khorne Bloodthirster
The Swords of Chaos Wintertooth’s Bite The Huntskards
Three dark brotherhoods of Chaos Three warbands of Chaos Trolls Three warbands of Bloodletters,
Knights, three warbands of Chaos The Devolved one warband of Bloodcrushers
Warriors, two warbands of Chosen One regiment of Forsaken The Hounds
The Tribes of the North Hunger’s Sons Two packs of Flesh Hounds
Five warbands of Chaos Marauders, Two warbands of Chaos Ogres The Barbadax
three warbands of The Sons of Krakanrok Two batteries of Skull Cannons
Marauder Horsemen, One Dragon Ogre Shaggoth, The Feralkin
four packs of Chaos Warhounds two warbands of Dragon Ogres One vast warband of
The Ironclad Avalanche The Fangmaws Chaos Marauders
Two regiments of Skullcrushers Three Chimeras The Skulltaker Hounds
The Bringer of Glories The Last Stampede One colossal pack of
Chaos Warshrine One Doombull, Chaos Warhounds
The Everdamned three warherds of Minotaurs,
One great swarm of Chaos Spawn, three Ghorgons
two Slaughterbrutes, Rhorgos the Deformed DARKH’DWEL’S
one Mutalith Vortex Beast Slaughterbrute GRAND CLAWPACK OF
The Crimson Wheels Dhorburk Drugk DEVIOUS DECEIT
Three Chaos Chariots, Chaos Giant Darkh’dwel
two Gorebeast Chariots Verminlord Deceiver
Clan Skritt
Warlord,
THE COTERIE two clawpacks of Stormvermin,
OF PERFECTION four clawpacks of Clanrats
Sigvald the Magnificent Clan Vrrtkin
The Glorious Host Chieftain,
Two courts of Daemonettes, one clawpack of Stormvermin,
three courts of Seekers two clawpacks of Clanrats,
The Perfumed Death THE MURDERCULT six clawpacks of Skavenslaves
Two courts of Daemonettes, Hellebron The Longbite Killers
two courts of Seekers Karan’gar Two clawpacks of Jezzails
The Beautiful Kyn Bloodthirster of Unfettered Fury The Kill-sneak Slicers
Two packs of Fiends The Cult of the Blood Queen One clawpack of Gutter Runners,
The Squealers Two warbands of Witch Elves, one clawpack of Night Runners,
One pack of Fiends one regiment of Executioners, Warp-Grinder Weapon Teams
The Silkrip Slaughtercade one regiment of High Elf Spearmen, Greevik’s Wonderweapons
One Exalted Seeker Chariot of one flock of Harpies Three Warlock Engineers,
Slaanesh, three Seeker Chariots The Whipsisters three Warp Lightning Cannons,
of Slaanesh One regiment of Sisters of Slaughter two clawpacks of Poisoned
The Bloodwake Wind Globadiers
One warband of Wrathmongers The Lumber-smash Beasts
THE ARMY OF BLIGHT The Red Tide Three packs of Stormfiends,
Isabella the Accursed Two warbands of Skullreapers two packs of Rat Ogres
The Legion of Corprust The Goremongers The Scurryswarms
Three tallybands of Plaguebearers, One warband of Skullreapers Two packs of Giant Rats,
one tallyband of Plague Drones The Skullrage three large Rat Swarms
The Cacklerattles One regiment of Skullcrushers
Three swarms of Nurglings The Darkling Herd
The Effulgent One Wargor,
Five Beasts of Nurgle three vast warherds of Gor,
two warherds of Minotaurs,
three regiments of Ungor,
one regiment of Centigor

Chapter 4 | 185
 THE FALL OF SHADOW
On the edge of the Wynd, the skaven gather itself tight once more. Ignoring Moments later, a swarm of shrieking
horde was in full retreat, the slow the sling-shots and throwing stars skaven burst through the ruins of
trampled by the swift as they sought that flickered out of the darkness, the guildhall’s western workshops.
to escape the Host of Shadow’s and with a swiftness and poise that They scurried just as desperately as
vengeance. Clawed and murderous only elves could have managed in those who had fled the elves’ advance
shadow-things, called into being by that corpse-choked rubble, the Host – even more so, in fact. Malekith
Malekith’s wrath, swept over those of Shadow reformed into the elcroi marked the danger at once and
who lagged behind. The blackfire – the hunter’s spear. The infantry shouted orders through the sudden
constructs left only bloody and formed the spearhead; the other uproar. None needed them. The elcroi
lacerated flesh in their passing, and forces, Malekith included, served as was not merely an assault column,
the Eternity King’s mortal vanguard the elcroi’s staff – all save the sisters but one employed if an ambush
advanced unopposed over skaven of slaughter, who roamed freely as threatened. Horns blared, and the
corpses. The ratmen spilled over they had since the battle’s start. The western half of the elcroi’s haft made
the rubble of the looted and half- gladiatrixes submitted to no other will a half-turn, spears and halberds
collapsed engineer’s guildhall, and – not even their king’s. steadying against the charge.
out onto the wasteland that bordered
the great excavation. Only there did a From within a pall of shadow at
line of stormvermin hold their ground, the centre of the stormvermin, the
more afraid of the looming shadow Verminlord Darkh’dwel sneered. The
in their own ranks than those that elves had been so predictable. Even
howled upon the wind. now, weapon teams were moving
into position amongst the soot-
The Eternity Guard bore the brunt stained buildings to the east of the
of what little fighting there was. advancing column. Utterly taken in
Malekith’s cavalry was at its most by Darkh’dwel’s feigned retreat, the
vulnerable in the tightly-packed elves had not even thought to search
streets of the Wynd, and had been the ruins, and instead marched blindly As the elves snapped into position,
ordered to hang back until the Host against the only obvious threat. the first greenskins charged into view
of Shadow breached Middenheim’s Not for the first time, Darkh’dwel amongst the workshop ruins. They
broader thoroughfares. Their absence pondered why the elf realms had came over the rubble at a lumbering
had made little difference thus far. proven so resistant to domination run, crude totems of bone and ragged
Casualties had been light, and each over the millennia. For a moment, the cloth flying high above, their armour
victory had come swifter than the Verminlord was tempted to undo the and shields already stained red
last. There were those in Malekith’s second little surprise he had prepared. with skaven blood. They thundered
ranks who believed this their just due, Then his sensitive ears picked up the forward with battle-mad abandon, the
for were they not the finest warriors sound of panicked scurrying – and, already indistinct lines of the mobs
of elfdom, come to war in righteous more importantly, bellowed cries of blurring and shifting as orcs vied with
cause? However, the Eternity King Waaagh! – to the west. Darkh’dwel one another to reach the fight first.
knew disquiet. Arrogance had led shrugged, the gesture invisible to Only where the black orcs marched
Malekith astray many times over those outside the pall of shadow. It was there any sense of discipline.
the course of his long and wayward was too late now. Those thickly-armoured warriors did
existence. With the fate of the very not so much as break step as they
world at stake, he was minded to The elves heard the commotion to the advanced. They strode on in perfect
be more cautious. The battle for the west a heartbeat after Darkh’dwel. order, somehow keeping pace with the
Wynd had been too easy. A trap At first, they missed the significance. other rampaging greenskins, who got
was brewing – Malekith could feel it All of Middenheim was in uproarious in one another’s way as often as not.
pricking at his skin. battle, and one chorus of desperate
skaven sounded much like another. A Trapped between greenskin brutes
Thus, as the Host of Shadow few of the elves – Malekith included and the shining blades of the elves,
approached the guildhall ruins, and – heard the booming orc voices, but the skaven went berserk. In their
the dull red stormvermin shield wall, these sounds too had fallen and risen doomed ferocity, the ratmen tore at
the Eternity King gave orders that his with the squalling wind, and none one another, at the orcs and at the
increasingly strung-out army should thought them at all remarkable. elves. They howled and screeched,

186 | Chapter 4
mouths foaming and eyes wild. Elves the storehouse, scorching Grimgor’s
collapsed as chisel-teeth tore their left side, and leaving two more
throats away. Orcs roared and died Immortulz dead. But the
as a dozen gouging, thrusting blades warlord was almost at the
tore them apart. But for the most part, wall, and nothing short of
it was the skaven who did the dying. death could have slowed him.
Their desperation could never match
the icy discipline of the elves, or the Grimgor gave a last bellowed
battle-lust of the orcs. For every foe shout, felt the fury of the wild
the ratmen brought down, a score of rise, and rammed his shoulder
their own number fell dead. against the storehouse’s battered
brick. The wall, already weakened
Grimgor Ironhide was lost in the by fire, collapsed in a shower of
thick of battle. He ignored those dust. Two massive slabs of bonded
skaven who fled, instead, shouldering brickwork hinged open where the
his way through to those rare black orc’s shoulder struck, then
areas of resistance where a skaven slammed down, crushing the skaven
warlord had succeeded in rallying who had used the wall as shelter
a desperate band of spears against moments before. Ignoring the sounds
the rout. One such challenge loomed of desperate squeals and crunching
now – a motley band of clanrats bone, Grimgor charged on through
and stormvermin sheltered amongst the dust, dislodged tiles clattering off
the three remaining walls of an his armour. He thudded across one of
ammunition store. Orc and skaven the fallen brickwork slabs, his trusty
dead lay ringed upon the cracked axe Gitsnik whirling in bloody arcs as
flagstones, the coughs of ratling guns he travelled. A skaven fell dead with
betraying that bullets, not blades, held every hack and cut of that massive
the greenskins at bay. As Grimgor blade, slaughtered by an instinct
advanced, he saw dirty green smoke honed on more battlefields than
blossom from amongst the wattle and Grimgor could count.
brick, heard the crack and thud as the
warpstone slugs tore through shields The skaven were quickly finding that
and into the greenskin flesh beyond. their haven had become a tomb. A
ragged wall of shields disintegrated
With a roar of challenge, Grimgor beneath Gitsnik’s brutal edge, their
hurled himself forwards, his heavy bearers hurled bleeding and dying
footfalls thudding down amongst into the skaven that came behind. The
the dead. The Immortulz, each a skaven warlord shrieked a command,
black orc almost as fearsome as the and a second, tighter wall pressed
warlord, picked up the Waaagh!-cry forward, but the Immortulz had
and barrelled in behind him. Bullets reached their warboss’ side, and this
cracked and whined as Grimgor wall disintegrated beneath the black
charged through the smoke, but the orcs’ heavy blades.
warlord had chosen his approach
well, and one of the storehouse’s Grimgor bore down on the warlord,
remaining walls shielded him from but the skaven had one last trick
the worst of the fire. Even so, several to play. As Gitsnik arced down, a
bullets ricocheted from Grimgor’s sudden shrieking howl sounded from
lucky armour, and another creased his the warboss’ right, and a rat ogre’s
already battle-scarred scalp. Behind massive, knuckled fist slammed
him, an Immortul gurgled and died into the side of his head. Grimgor
as a salvo shot his guts away. Ahead, staggered under the blow, and the
the storehouse was lit with a sudden rat ogre lashed out again. The skaven
green fire as one of the ratling guns warlord – seeing his opening – lunged
jammed at an inopportune moment. his saw-toothed blade at the black
Emerald lightning sparked from within orc’s belly.
Neither blow landed. With a savage
bellow, Grimgor butted the rat ogre
full in the face. The beast’s teeth
splintered under the impact, and
it reeled back in sudden pain. In
the same moment, the black orc’s
gauntleted fingers closed around the
warlord’s weapon hand. Grimgor
wrenched the skaven off his feet,
whirled the ratman through the air,
and slammed him down onto the
rubble in front of him. Before the
warlord could regain his footing, a
heavy boot crashed down onto his
skull. There was a sharp crack, a brief
squeal and then the warlord lay still.
With a roar, the rat ogre hurled itself
forward to avenge its master, then
fell dead as an underarm blow from
Gitsnik split the hulking beast from
crotch to sternum.

Grimgor! Grimgor! The Immortulz saw

their warboss’ triumph and bellowed
his name as they slaughtered the
remaining skaven. The shout echoed
through the guildhouse ruins, and
was then taken up by hundreds of
other voices. As the chant grew in
volume, the orcs barrelled forward
with redoubled strength, hacking
apart and stomping flat the last
bastions of skaven resistance. Most
were disappointed – the ratmen had
died too easily. Then the leading
greenskins caught sight of the Host of
Shadow, and they bared their fangs in
anticipatory grins.

Grimgor! Grimgor! Malekith heard

the chant rise, and knew it boded
only trouble. The Eternity King had
allowed himself a moment of self-
congratulation as the new threat
swept out of the west, but only a
moment. The skaven were of little
threat – those that were not already
dead would perish soon enough, he
had no doubt about that. However, the
orcs were another matter. The Eternity
King had no idea what had brought
the greenskins to Middenheim, but
the why of things hardly mattered.
Malekith perceived the power of Ghur
flowing amongst them, but he had
fought greenskins often enough to
know that their belligerence would come from. In the middle-distance, a greenskin roared his last and fell
easily overcome any form of common they saw the muzzle-flares of jezzails dead as the whickering missiles struck
cause – if indeed the orcs even and warp lightning cannons, and home. With each salvo, sharp elven
recognised that one existed. before them, the line of elves. There voices accused the orcs of being
could be only one response. With weakling cowards.
Deeming that a wasteful battle was a bellow that shook the ruins, the
nigh, Malekith ordered the eastern leading edge of Grimgor’s horde The greenskins instinctively
formations of the elcroi to turn surged towards the elves. recognised the insults for what they
westwards. The Eternity King would were, and these struck home within
meet the inevitable greenskin charge even more force than the javelin and
with every blade at his command. WAAAGH! bolt volleys. Soon, several warbands
broke off from the assault on the main
To the north, Darkh’dwel’s ominous Had Malekith not reinforced the elven battle line to run the jeering
presence held the line of stormvermin eastern half of the elcroi with cavalry down. However, no orc alive
in check. The Verminlord knew that regiments from the west, the elves could match the pace of an elven
the orcs would likely need no further would have been swept away by the steed – even in the tangled confines of
encouragement to carry their battle ferocity of the greenskin assault. As the Wynd – and the greenskins were
on into the elves, but he was not the it was, the line held, if just barely. quickly outpaced by their tormentors.
kind to leave anything to chance. Choppas hacked down, splintering Again and again, the elves spurred
At a gesture from Darkh’dwel, shields and driving aside halberd away, halting only to taunt the
nightrunners slipped through the blades. Helms split asunder beneath greenskins with barbed words and
shadows of the eastern buildings, and the punishing blows, severed limbs barbed javelins anew.
concealed weapon teams opened fire. flopped to the ground, but the Host
of Shadow held. Their response was Only then, with the greenskins and
The skaven artillery fire began no less fearsome. Spears punched elves fully engaged, did the concealed
haphazardly at first, as different through thick leather or penetrated weapon teams shift their fire, raining
teams received their instructions at the weak-points in steel armour. shot after shot indiscriminately
different times. Some didn’t even wait Woodland glaives clashed with into the close-fought melee. For the
for their orders, but simply began choppas and knocked them aside. elves, the sudden shift was almost
firing as soon as they heard their Gouts of reddish-black flame seared disastrous. Jezzail rounds thudded
neighbours do so. The torrent of fire the air as Malekith’s two hydras into their ranks, gouging bloody
soon thickened, with the angry sizzle entered the battle. Spurred on by trails of dead and wounded at the
of warp lightning joining the bass the lashes of their masters, the scaly very moment when every blade was
thud of Skryre mortars and the sharp beasts lumbered into a press of orc sorely needed. Phoenix Guardsmen
cracks of jezzails. boyz. Fin-crested heads snapped and shuddered and collapsed as bullets
darted, plucking greenskins skywards, struck home, and bursts of lightning
Those first shots could have torn the sometimes fighting amongst one seared through tightly packed ranks
elves bloody, had they been aimed another for the spoils, and tearing the of darkshards and corsairs, leaving
into Malekith’s ranks. However, screaming brutes apart in the process. them smouldering corpses.
Darkh’dwel’s orders had been quite
specific, and none of his gunners Seeing his infantry overmatched, Two poisoned wind mortar shells
had the courage to disobey. Thus, Malekith ordered his cavalry into were all it took to bring about the
the bolts of lightning, gas shells and the battle. The Eternity King would Krakensides’ doom. Already beset by
warpstone bullets whistled over the have given an eye for some knights roaring black orcs, their formation
Host of Shadow, and struck home in of Hag Graef or Caledor, but Teclis’ collapsed when clouds of poison
Grimgor’s anarchic ranks. spell had denied him such things. He gas burst into its heart. Sea dragon
had only light cavalry – dark cloaked scale was of no defence against that
Crackling bolts of energy gouged raiders from northern Naggaroth, vile weapon. Dozens of the corsairs
through the greenskins, flinging and cold-hearted huntresses from quickly succumbed, and those who
charred corpses high in the air. Murky Athel Loren. These were no shock did not were overwhelmed and hacked
green smoke burst from shattered troops, and could not hope to break apart. That alone could have brought
globes, orcs gasping their last as the the greenskin horde, but they served Malekith’s host to ruin, had not the
vapours liquefied their innards. Heavy well enough. Enchanted javelins and Revenants of Khaine pressed forward
bullets punched through armour, flesh crossbow bolts rained down on the into the gap, braving the thinning
and bone. Almost as one, the orcs orcs’ southern flank, each guided by clouds of toxic gas to stall the black
looked up to see where the shots had a keen eye and a sure hand. Many orcs’ offensive.

Chapter 4 | 189
With his battle line so thickly beset fray, and knew at once that this was
by the greenskins, Malekith had the foe he had to defeat. The warboss
few troops he could spare to clear wasn’t sure where the elves had come
the weapon teams from the eastern from, nor did he particularly care. All
buildings. Taking to the skies, he he knew was that there was a fight,
urged Seraphon against the nearest and where there was a fight, there
cluster of ruins. was a need to prove that Grimgor
was the best! The warboss bellowed
Lightning spat out from a collapsed insults at the sky, daring the elf to
archway and crackled across the face him, but the winged shadow
dragon’s mighty chest. Seraphon remained airborne, unwilling – or
roared in pain, but she was a unable – to face him. Grimgor decided
harder foe to fell than the elves to seek the elf’s attention in a manner
and greenskins that had been the that could not be ignored.
skaven gunners’ intended victims.
Diving hard, she struck the ruins Grimgor stomped across the
with enough force to send debris battlefield with his retinue of
raining onto the streets below. Quick Immortulz close behind. Malekith’s
as a snake, Seraphon’s head darted refusal to meet his challenge had left
through the collapsed archway, thick the warboss in a black mood, and
black smoke spewing from her jaws. it was woe for anyone – friend or
Dozens of skaven collapsed as the foe – who stood in his way. Word of
noxious fumes flooded their lungs, Grimgor’s temper spread rapidly after
their arcane weapons falling from he cut down a dozen of his own lads
their dying hands. Others attempted for the crime of barring his way, and
to flee, but Seraphon’s snapping the greenskin lines quickly parted
mouth caught them before they made to allow their warboss into the very
the safety of the street beyond. heart of the battle.

One ruin had been cleared of weapon The warboss’ arrival was dramatic,
teams, but fire rained down from at to say the least. A vast hydra, its
least a dozen more. Abruptly, the flanks stained with orc blood, issued
southmost ruin went silent. Malekith a booming hoot and lurched towards
caught a glimpse of golden murder- Grimgor. Gitsnik flashed out, and
masks amongst the darkness, and two of the beast’s heads fell severed
a sudden fever-pitch of shrieks that to the ground. The rest roared once
rang out even over the bellowing of in rage and pain, then lunged for the
the orcs. The Eternity King gave a black orc, but too slow. Gitsnik came
cruel smile beneath his helm, and down in an overhead arc, crunching
silently wished the chaindancers the deep through the monster’s ribs
joy of their hunt. Let the sisters of and splitting its heart in two. The
slaughter practise their skills upon the remaining heads thrashed briefly
skaven weaponeers – there was work and then fell limp, one crushing an
enough for Malekith elsewhere. Immortul to Grimgor’s right. Spitting
on the hydra’s corpse, the warboss
Turning Seraphon about once more, charged past the two beastmasters –
the Eternity King dove back towards who had been stunned witless by the
his embattled army. The dragon’s swiftness of their pet’s demise – and
talons raked a mob of black orcs. flung himself headlong into the ranks
Malekith’s blackfire constructs tore of Phoenix Guard beyond.
in close behind, great shadowy
pendulum blades that swept through Gitsnik’s first blow slew three of the
those greenskins too slow to escape. Phoenix Guard. The heavy axe blade
razored through the air, hacking
On the ground below, Grimgor marked through three necks, and a halberd
the Eternity King’s arrival into the staff raised to fend off the blow.
Grimgor’s next strike severed an elf’s dragon’s talons scored deep grooves The Armour of Midnight’s faceplate
arm, and his iron-shod boot lashed in his armour. The Immortulz were buckled beneath the blow. Malekith
out to kick the unfortunate back into neither so swift nor so fortunate. slumped back, dazed, his grip on
his fellows. The Immortulz crashed in Nearly a dozen went down in a Grimgor’s arm torn free. The black
behind their warboss, their weighty bloody smear from the talon-strike orc raised his axe high again for a
choppas crunching through elven alone, and as many again perished to killing blow, bellowing in triumph.
plate. Still the Phoenix Guard held the dragon’s fangs, or the chill blade As if in response, Seraphon bucked
their ground, firm of heart and strong of her rider. hard. Malekith recovered enough of
of arm, despite the crushing odds his wits to grasp hold of his saddle.
piled in against them. At once, Grimgor lost all interest in Grimgor, with both fists locked about
the surviving Phoenix Guard. He had Gitsnik’s haft, had no chance to find a
On the edge of the great excavation, finally drawn the elves’ warlord into handhold. With a roar of frustration,
Darkh’dwel snickered foully as the the fight. Seraphon turned to face the black orc plunged from the
two invaders slaughtered each other. him, and Grimgor ran directly at her. dragon’s back, and into a thicket of
Though the fire from his weapon Thick black smoke issued from the Phoenix Guard halberds.
teams had become increasingly dragon’s maw. All around Grimgor,
sporadic – a sure sign that not all black orcs choked and died, but the To the north, Darkh’dwel saw the
was well in the eastern ruins –not warboss came on, his one good eye warboss and the king come away
so much as a single elf had yet closed and his lungs pounding as the bloody from their clash. The elves
approached the line of stormvermin. smoke swirled about him. Only at the and orcs had fought one another
At every minute the Verminlord had to last moment, when the snorting of to a standstill, and now was the
resist the temptation to send his own the dragon’s nostrils was loud in his Verminlord’s time for glory. With a
forces down into the fight, to lead the ears, did Grimgor open his eye, and chittering cry, Darkh’dwel hurled his
warriors of the Under-Empire to a his final lumbering step became a stormvermin through the guildhouse
victory over both elves and orcs. This mighty leap. A moment later, the black ruins and onto the elves’ northern
was what the Horned Rat demanded, orc’s armoured boots crashed down flank. Those first to the fray perished
and it was therefore Darkh’dwel’s on Seraphon’s horned head. Grimgor in a heartbeat – they faced Malekith’s
dream, but the reality of the situation skidded, but momentum carried him Black Guard, and there were few
was not lost on him. His few hundred up the spined ridges of the dragon’s foes more murderously efficient than
stormvermin could not crush both neck and face-to-face with his foe. they. Yet even the murderous could
armies – better to let the fools whittle be overcome by sheer numbers,
each other down further before he and Darkh’dwel’s stormvermin
claimed a glorious victory. far outnumbered their elven foes.
Trapped between orcs to the west and
Malekith could see that the battle was skaven to the north, the Black Guard
not going well for the Host of Shadow. began to crumple.
The greenskins were simply too many,
and the elves too few. Furthermore, it Elsewhere, the shrieking of skaven
was plain that the orcs were infused and his own growing rage dragged
by the power of Ghur, making an Malekith from his daze. The greenskin
already ferocious and hardy breed brute had dented his armour! The
all the more formidable. The Eternity Eternity King was dimly aware that
King saw the skaven lurking to the So surprised was Malekith at the his northern flank was in severe
north, but he could do nothing about orc’s audacious approach that he danger, but his focus remained on
them – not yet. First, he would have to barely brought his own swords up to the black orc Incarnate. At Malekith’s
make an example of the orc warlord. block Gitsnik’s murderous arc. There command, Seraphon lunged for
Malekith had fought greenskins many was a flare of light as the two blades Grimgor. The black orc was laying
times, and he knew that if he humbled clashed, and such was the force of about himself with gusto, hacking
the warboss, the Waaagh! would the impact that the Eternity King down any elf who stood between
flee or splinter. Either would suit his was nearly toppled from his saddle. him and Malekith. Seraphon darted
purposes now. Yet Malekith lashed out, the talons forward, thinking to seize Grimgor in
of his clawed gauntlet sinking deep her jaws, but Gitsnik’s wild blade tore
Warned by some primal instinct, into the thick muscle of Grimgor’s through the scales of her neck, forcing
Grimgor flung himself aside as upper arm. The black orc bellowed in the dragon to shy away. Seeing his
Seraphon roared overhead. Even then, pain, then slammed his heavy brow triumph, the black orc bared his fangs
he had almost been too late – the forward into the Eternity King’s face. and loosed an echoing Waaagh!.

Chapter 4 | 191
 The shout was taken up by those
greenskins nearby, causing the air to
glow a lambent amber. In response, a
M alekith dropped from Seraphon’s back. The orc warboss was less
than a dozen paces away, his axe hacking down through the last
of the Phoenix Guard. Steeling himself, the Eternity King strode directly
second cry of Waaagh! sounded from towards his foe, sword raised.
the west. An orc burst from the brawl to Malekith’s left. He roared an
unintelligible challenge, his spittle flecking the Eternity King’s armour.
Hundreds more orcs came spilling Then he collapsed senseless as the warboss’ fist smashed him aside.
through the rubble of the storehouses, Clearly the black orc would allow no other to claim his victory. Malekith
choppas waving wildly. Behind would have had it no other way, and quickened his pace towards the
them lumbered raucous giants, their warboss. This was the moment in which he would discover whether he
booming voices and heavy footfalls had read the other’s character true. If he had not, then he would perish.
shaking stones from the ruins. Boar The orc roared again as Malekith approached, but the Eternity King
riders forced their way up from the ignored the brutish display. Swiftly and elegantly, the Eternity King sank
southwest, the groink and squeal of down onto one knee, his head bowed and his sword proffered – pommel
their mad-eyed steeds adding to the first – in the orc’s direction.
cacophony. And behind them all came ‘I yield,’ he announced, the necessity of the words doing nothing to
the slab-muscled ogres. They alone soften their bitterness.
did not give voice to the Waaagh!-cry, The hulking orc froze mid-blow, and Malekith wondered at the
and instead bellowed out their own thoughts racing through the brute’s meagre mind.
coarse feast songs. ‘I yield,’ he repeated. ‘In my name, and in that of the elven race.’
The black orc gave no answer, at first. Then his lips hooked into a
His heart sinking, Malekith gazed snarling smile, and he raised his axe high above his head.
westward, and saw his army’s doom. ‘GRIMGOR IS DA BEST!’ he bellowed, turning his back on Malekith
The Eternity King was nothing if not and pounding a gauntleted fist against his armoured chest. The cry
a confident general, but he knew that was taken up across the ruins of the guildhouse, a thousand greenskin
he could not defeat the orcs, the ogres voices shouting the declaration as one.
and the skaven at the same time. Nor ‘No,’ Malekith’s voice, hard and steady, cut through the din.
could he win through by harnessing Grimgor stiffened. He lowered his axe and turned, slowly –
his own shadow-power. Though the dangerously – to face the kneeling Malekith.
one-eyed warboss made no conscious The Eternity King matched the warboss’ one-eyed stare with his own.
attempt to harness the power of Ghur, ‘I came to this city to defeat a servant of the Dark Gods. The ratmen and
the wind of beasts more than made the northlanders all serve him, this Everchosen. He seeks to destroy this
the orc Incarnate the Eternity King’s world and everything on it.’
physical equal. Grimgor growled threateningly, but his axe remained lowered.
‘How can Grimgor be the best, if the world dies by another’s hand?’
The Malekith of old, the Witch King of Malekith asked slyly.
Naggaroth, would have fled the field The warboss’ frown deepened in an expression Malekith took for
at that moment, would have retreated unaccustomed thought. ‘Where is he?’ rumbled the orc.
to lick his wounds with no thought Malekith extended a thin finger northwards. ‘At the bottom of that pit,’
of the cost to others. It was the only he guessed, then pressed on. ‘I will show you, if you will permit us to
ending that pride would have allowed. fight at your side.’
But Malekith was no longer quite the ‘Pointy-ears are weak,’ Grimgor growled.
selfish creature he had so recently ‘Then we have no chance of stealing your glory,’ Malekith pointed out,
been – or more accurately, that part ‘and every opportunity to prove ourselves worthy of your rule.’
of his nature was buried deeper than After a lengthy pause, a savage grin crossed the black orc’s scarred
before. As Grimgor charged for him features. Then, Grimgor beckoned Malekith to his feet. ‘Come.’
once more, the Eternity King had Unseen beneath his mask, Malekith’s lips twisted into a smile. He had
a sudden flash of inspiration. The sacrificed his pride, but a hope of victory yet remained. In any case,
situation could perhaps be rescued, promises to lesser creatures had no meaning. If the orc survived the
though at the cost of his pride. coming hours, then there would be a reckoning between them.

192 | Chapter 4
To the north, Darkh’dwel was Poison spattered from the blade as it At last admitting his peril, Darkh’dwel
realising how badly he had span through the night air. It was the grasped at the Wind of Ulgu, seeking
underestimated the might of the weapon that had felled the so-called to spread his concealing gloom.
greenskin horde, but his forces were Herald of Sigmar during Middenheim’s Again, his sorceries failed, ripped
so committed to the battle that he capture, and now it flew true to claim apart by the Incarnate of Shadow in
could see no way of extracting them. an orc warlord’s head. the skies above. The Verminlord fled
Already, his stormvermin had pushed deeper into the mass of stormvermin,
the Black Guard so far back that his A moment later, there was a dull his mind reaching desperately for
own western flank had come under chink of metal. The two halves of the power that would enable him to
assault from bellowing orcs. A short the oversized throwing star clattered skitterleap to safety.
distance ahead, the Verminlord could down against the armour of the
see occasional glimpses of both dead, split by a swing of Grimgor’s Grimgor caught the Verminlord three
Malekith and Grimgor, but the press axe. The warboss had not slowed to steps later. Gitsnik chopped down,
of bodies between them cheated his deliver the blow, but charged on over severing Darkh’dwel’s left leg at
gaze as often as not. the corpses. Stormvermin pressed the ankle. The Verminlord lashed
forward, eyes gleaming with madness. out as he fell, his talons gouging
With a chittering shriek, the Gitsnik swung again, and their lifeless bloody wounds across the black
Verminlord summoned the seething bodies were hurled back in a spray of orc’s face. Grimgor just grinned, and
rats of Middenheim’s sewers. They blood. Others came shrieking behind brought Gitsnik’s blade down on
emerged from grates and outlet them, but the Immortulz crashed the Verminlord’s neck. In all, it took
pipes; from amongst the rubble of the forward behind their warboss, eight strikes to sever Darkh’dwel’s
guildhouse’s buildings. The squealing choppas slamming down in great head, although his struggles ceased
tide flooded beneath the embattled two-handed blows. after three. On the seventh blow,
stormvermin, and swept across the the sorcerous frenzy within the
orcs and elves. Razor-sharp claws stormvermin faded away as quickly
tore at pale elven flesh and thick as it had come, and the skaven fled
orcish hide; chisel teeth sank deep shrieking into the night. Few made it
into throats and pulsing arteries. very far. The boar boyz had come late
As his enemies vanished beneath to the fight, and were determined to
writhing bodies and twitching tails, wet their spears.
Darkh’dwel pressed southwards,
clouds of shadow billowing about him. Malekith and his few surviving
The stormvermin advanced behind elves were spared from slaughter
their master, driven to a killing frenzy at Grimgor’s decree. It seemed that
by the Verminlord’s enchantments. the warboss was now quite taken
with the idea that the warriors of an
Had he been less certain of his own elder race had joined his Waaagh!.
success, Darkh’dwel might have Not all of Grimgor’s bosses were of
noticed that there were fewer and like mind, but their objections were
fewer elves amongst the dead, or soon muted after the warboss several
that the banners of Naggaroth and Unwelcome uncertainty arose in times reinforced his decision in the
Ulthuan had retreated further south. Darkh’dwel’s gullet, but he crushed bloodiest way possible.
Similarly, he might also have realised it down. Was he not an emissary
that the sounds of battle to the south of the Horned Rat, a master of As for Malekith, he felt only the
were no longer so strident as they had fearsome sorceries? Warp lightning burden of bitter failure. His army
been. Instead, the Verminlord pressed arced out from the Verminlord’s was all but destroyed, and it was
on to where he had last seen Grimgor, claws, crackling through the air to scant consolation that only his quick
his confidence growing with every broil the black orc alive in his own thinking had rescued it from total
greenskin that fell dead at his feet. armour. Yet scarcely had the bolts left defeat. Ignoring the accusing stares
Darkh’dwel’s fingertips, when they of his surviving warriors, the Eternity
At last, the bellowing mass of dissipated into nothing, dispelled by King pledged anew that Archaon
greenskins parted, and Grimgor another sorcerer’s will. Too late, the would pay for that day’s indignities,
charged towards Verminlord’s patch Verminlord heard the slow beating and followed Grimgor’s host onto the
of shadow. Darkh’dwel chittered in of Seraphon’s wings overhead; felt shoulders of the great excavation. He
anticipation of victory, and hurled his Malekith’s vengeful presence upon the only hoped that the other Incarnates
Doomstar at the oncoming warboss. winds of magic. were faring better than he.

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DEATH ON THE OVERLOOK
Sigvald the Magnificent arrived at were perfection in motion. Each Krell heard the lilting voices of the
the Great Park’s overlook just as the graceful step blended effortlessly daemonettes, but their song was
Doomed Legion and the warriors into the next, as if they were naught cold in his ears. Whatever desires
of the Kurgan began their bloody but the choreographed steps of some the wight had once possessed
contest. The scream-wracked air mesmeric dance. Their lilting song had departed with his flesh – only
stank of burning flesh, and witchfires danced across the deeper notes of Nagash’s will any longer had a
gleamed sickly green amongst the battle like mayflies flitting above purchase upon his black soul. Yet as
the fire-twisted trees. Overhead, a brook. It began softly, sweet and Krell laid eyes upon the golden figure
morghasts did battle with swarms of seductive to all who heard it. Then, who strutted at the daemonettes’
furies and roaring chimerae. as the dancers picked up speed, head, he felt an old hatred stirring.
the harmonies became discordant Echoes of long-ago battles stormed
The prince was none too pleased to and jagged. Yet somehow the song through the wight’s mind, of wars
have been whisked from his pleasure- remained as intoxicating as before. fought between the warriors of
halls amidst the ruins of Parravon, Khorne and Slaanesh’s effete
and less so to find himself under Those touched by those notes heard champions. Guided by an instinct
orders from Archaon Everchosen. every lost love and forbidden desire older than the Empire, Krell altered
As far as Sigvald was concerned, the calling their name. Fleeing Kurgan his line of advance to bring him into
wars of the End Times could be left halted dumbfounded, their minds confrontation with the golden figure.
to others. If the world was coming numbed and senses set afire by the
to a close, then he had no desire siren song. Some reached out to The centre of the Kurgan line had
other than to pass its final hours in touch the dancers. The daemonettes broken apart, but the flanking
a feast of depravity. His worshippers laughed, a sound that made the warbands fought on. To the north,
had spent days preparing such a heart sing and the flesh crawl. Then barrow-steel clashed with ensorcelled
celebration, and the thought that claws flashed out, and the besotted iron as the knights of the Doomed
it would now go to waste many northlanders gurgled their last Legion fought the murderous black-
hundreds of leagues distant was a through ruined throats. All this the armoured reavers of the wastes. The
further grievance on a night already dancers did without missing a step, chaos knights were stronger and
laden with them. Yet the prince knew and without slowing their pace. faster than their undead foes, and
better than to oppose Slaanesh’s will, their swords and axes hacked through
and grudgingly accepted his charge. the bronzed grave armour to shatter
the bones within.
Far below Sigvald, the centre of the
Kurgan lines broke apart. Black- Only Arkhan’s sorceries prevented
armoured warriors fled up the slope this conflict disintegrating. Drawing
like scurrying beetles, glory forgotten upon the death magic that swirled
in the face of the overwhelming ranks about his shadowy master, the liche
of undead. Sigvald sniffed. He had reknitted broken bones, and rebound
always thought the Kurgan to be the wights’ wicked spirits to their
unreliable brutes, brave enough whilst long-dead bodies. The northlanders
the battle flowed in their favour, but were not so fortunate, and those who
always ready to leave the real work to fell to the undead knights’ cursed
others. Once again, victory rested on Far below, the wights of the Doomed blades did not rise to fight again.
the genius and skill of Prince Sigvald Legion marched in lockstep through Worse, there were no sorcerers
the Magnificent. With a touch more the charred forest. Blood and bone or shamans to unravel the liche’s
flourish than was necessary, Sigvald rained down upon them from high necromancy, for Nagash had slain
drew Sliverslash from its scabbard. above, as the morghasts fought their them all within moments of battle
Pausing only to admire his reflection vicious skyborne battle. As the wights being joined.
in the blade, the Geld-Prince strode advanced, a dying chimera spiralled
down into the fight. out of the skies, its ruined body On the Great Park’s southern edge,
slamming into the Doomed Legion’s isolated Kurgan warbands fought
Behind Sigvald came a host of lithe- ranks. A score of Krell’s warriors were beneath their skull-topped banners.
limbed daemonettes – a gift from crushed flat by the beast’s impact, but Wailing spirits streaked through
ever-generous Slaanesh. The daemons the Doomed Legion marched on. the ashen forest, clawing at the
northlanders with icy fingers. Hordes Sigvald reached the wights of the It was then that the daemonettes
of charred and blistered zombies Doomed Legion just as the first of the struck. The daemons didn’t so much
lurched between the walls of spiked southern Kurgan warbands broke. as slow as they hit the line of shields.
shields, mindless save for Nagash’s The prince did not enter the fight in a Rather, the tempo of their dance
controlling will. The living dead tore wild charge, as was the custom for his increased, becoming a quicksilver
at shields and flesh, insensate to rival warlords, but at a calculating, display of balletic murder. Every
the blows that thudded into them measured pace. He thrust Sliverslash pirouette ended with a lunging claw;
in return. Here, as in the north of forward at eye level, the rapier’s every cabriole with a shatter of bone.
the ravaged park, the dead did not point sliding over a wight’s shield They fought with the same grace
rest easily. Only by hacking their and punching through the creature’s that Sigvald believed he possessed,
foes entirely to pieces could the skull before it could react. A heartbeat each fluid motion as inevitable as the
northlanders achieve a measure of later, Sigvald swung the blade to his rising of the sun, and yet somehow
respite. Even then, it lasted only until right, the silvered sword-tip ripping impossible to predict.
Nagash stretched forth his will once through a second wight’s iron gorget.
again. The Great Necromancer sent A third wight thrust a barrow blade at For the wights of the Doomed Legion,
bleak pulses of amethyst magic into Sigvald’s armoured belly. The prince whose wits were but a shadow of
the risen dead, lending them vigour turned effortlessly away from the those they had possessed whilst alive,
and strength. Kurgan shields were lunge, not even deigning to catch the the daemonettes were an untouchable
torn from their wielders’ grasps. strike on his shield. With a disdainful foe. What wounds the wights inflicted
Northlanders were dragged down laugh, Sigvald swept Sliverslash back upon the dancers’ alabaster flesh
into the blood-sodden ash where the across the shield wall’s face, severing owed more to blind chance than
risen corpses of slaves and former the arm that had dared to strike at precision, and the magic binding the
shieldmates stamped and tore them him. With a rattle, the wights pressed revenants to the world of the living
to death. forward against their gaudy foe. steadily began to dissipate.

Chapter 4 | 197
Sigvald, his earlier ill mood dispelled,
fought on amongst the whirling
daemonettes, laughing with the
joy of the fight. The prince’s only
disappointment was that his foes did
not scream as he cut them down.
To him, slaughter without voiced
agony was like a meal without wine
– palatable enough, but lacking a
feeling of true fulfilment. Yet he
knew that Slaanesh would shower
him with rewards for the deeds he
performed that day, and lost himself
for a moment in dreams of depravities
beyond the ken of lesser mortals.

In that moment, the killing edge of

Krell’s gleaming axe nearly took
Sigvald’s head. The prince broke out
of his reverie a heartbeat before the
ragged blade struck home, and only a
desperate upward swing of his shield
prevented his head tumbling from
his shoulders. There was a shrieking
sound as the axe-blade scraped
across the shield’s front, and Sigvald
saw that the wight’s strike had torn
a jagged scar across the silver skin.
At that sight, the Geld-Prince forgot
his dreams of indulgence and threw
himself at the Mortarch of Despair.

Thus began a contest of champions,

well-matched in ability even though
their fighting styles could not have
been more different. Sigvald was
lighter on his feet, his blade fast and
precise. Krell was a brute, ponderous
in motion but his axe unstoppable in
its swing. Sigvald quickly learned that
Krell’s great haymaking blows could
not be parried – his first attempt to do
so nearly resulted in Sliverslash being
ripped from his hands – and threw his
efforts into evading the Black Axe’s
brutal arcs. This was more easily said
than done. Each of Krell’s whirling
blows led seamlessly into the next, a
sight that would have been strangely
graceful were it not for the murderous
intent that lay beneath.

For the first time that night, Sigvald

fell back before a foe. Krell moved
with him, the great blade whistling
closer with every step. A daemonette,
not realising her danger until it Elsewhere the tide of battle began or trampled underfoot. Some were
was too late, darted away from the to shift. Arkhan the Black felt scooped up to serve as makeshift
Doomed Legion’s swords and into the his master’s displeasure rippling missiles, and flung down the slope to
Black Axe’s path. The heavy blade through his mind, and summoned crash into the mass of undead. Many
scythed through her without slowing, the surviving morghasts from the of the daemonettes – their attention
the ichor-stained halves of her corpse angry skies. The osseous heralds on the foe ahead, not the allies behind
thudding onto the ashen ground a descended upon the embattled – fared little better. But for all of that,
moment later. Kurgan and daemonettes, their spirit- the undead suffered worse, and scores
bound blades cleaving mortal and of the Doomed Legion’s reanimated
Again and again Sigvald lunged at immortal flesh alike. The daemons warriors were stomped flat.
Krell, always timing his strikes to were unfazed by their plight, seeing
match the openings in the wight’s only fresh foes to inveigle into their At Nagash’s command, the morghasts
whirling guard. As often as not, otherworldly dance. For the Kurgan, flocked towards the new threat. At
Sliverslash’s tip skittered across however, this sudden terror from first, the advantage lay with the
Krell’s ancient armour. Even when it the dark shattered what battle-spirit undead. None amongst Throgg’s
did penetrate the barrow-iron, Krell they had left. Giving in to despair, horde could fly, and this allowed
did not so much as slow. Indeed, the the northlanders broke apart and fled the morghasts to strike wherever
only sign that the wight had felt the towards the overlook. opportunity lay. Spirit-wreathed
blow at all was a momentary flare of halberds hacked through troll-flesh
the witchfires in his eyes. Suddenly, the overlook shook to and slaughterbrutes’ armoured
a throaty roar. A new silhouette hides; enchanted falchions thudded
Sigvald ducked. Krell’s axe whistled appeared atop the crest, vast and home through minotaurs’ thick
over the prince’s head and smashed lumpen. A tattered red cloak hung fur. Unfortunately for the undead,
through a scorched tree. Cinders from his monstrous shoulders, and the beasts were too many and
rained down upon them both, leaving a glimmer of gold gleamed about a their dull minds scarcely noted the
ashen streaks across Sigvald’s golden mighty fang. Throgg, the Wintertooth, pain. Armoured claws swatted the
armour. Krell reversed his strike, the King of Trolls, had come. Larger morghasts from the skies, or wiry
looping the blade up and over his shadows gathered upon the overlook; knuckled hands seized their legs
head, and swept it down towards the the trolls, giants and mutants of the and dragged them downwards, to be
stooped prince. Sigvald twisted aside. northlands, the feral minotaurs and hacked apart by blunt-edged cleavers.
The axe slammed down – cleaving a ghorgons of the Drakwald. They had
few strands of the prince’s blonde hair come from across the city at Throgg’s Sigvald and Krell fought on through
as it fell – and thudded deep into the call, bound to his will by the magic in it all. Twisting aside as the Black Axe
thick soil. his tarnished crown. hacked down, Sigvald leaned forward,
grasping Sliverslash’s grips. He gave
For a split second, the blade was It had been Archaon’s desire for a shout of triumph as his fingers
lodged fast, and in that moment Sigvald and Throgg to defend the closed around the handle of flayed
Sigvald struck. The prince rose up overlook together. Yet Sigvald had skin, then let go his shield and fell
triumphantly, Sliverslash thrusting found only insult in being compared backwards with an altogether sharper
forward. With a screech of metal and to a troll, and had dealt Throgg cry. Sigvald had one hand upon his
a puff of grave dust, the blade’s tip what he had thought to be a killing reclaimed sword, the other clapped
punched through Krell’s breastplate blow shortly after they had left the across his bleeding face. Krell had
and into his chest. For a moment, the despoiled Temple of Ulric. Throgg, predicted the prince’s actions, had
two champions stood silent and still however, was tougher than the lured him in and then reversed his
as the battle raged about them. Then princeling had reckoned, and his stroke to catch his foe off guard.
to Sigvald’s horror Krell’s witchfires gnarled flesh had soon repaired
blazed anew, and a dry, deathless itself. Now the Troll King had come As the wight king came forward once
laugh echoed from his hollow helm. to the overlook not only to crush the again, the Geld-Prince caught his
The wight twisted heavily to one side, undead, but also to slay Sigvald for reflection in his abandoned shield. His
wrenching both his axe blade from his treachery. hand barely concealed the wound’s
the ground and Sliverslash’s hilt from extent, for it ran from his chin to
Sigvald’s hand. Suddenly weaponless, Throgg’s army of monsters made no above his brow. Tearing his fingers
the Geld-Prince backed away in distinction between friend and foe away, Sigvald saw the bloody ruin of
dismay as Krell advanced once more, as they stampeded into the burnt- his left eye, and puckered, discoloured
the silvered blade still lodged deep in out gardens. Fleeing Kurgans were flesh that he knew at once would
the wight’s torso. smacked aside by makeshift clubs, never heal.

Chapter 4 | 199
In that moment, Sigvald went berserk, Sigvald pounded the wight again and matter across Krell’s corpse. As the
overcome by a rage more befitting of again, shouting incoherent hate at his Geld-Prince fell lifeless across the
a Khornate champion. Scooping up expressionless foe. He was heedless wight’s body, brutish Throgg scowled
his shield, he threw himself at Krell, of the blood running down his face, down at the pair, and then emptied
thrusting, punching and kicking. and streaming from his swollen his bladder across Sigvald’s golden
hands. He felt the cheek-piece of armour. Insult and treachery repaid,
Fury gave the Geld-Prince the Krell’s helm give under the onslaught, the Troll King descended deeper into
advantage that finesse had so far and flung the twisted scrap of metal the charred trees and went to claim
denied him, and this time it was Krell clear, not noticing that the blow victory for the Chaos Gods.
who fell back in retreat, his laughter that had warped the metal had also
at last silenced. Again and again the sheared off one of his fingers. The Nagash felt the departure of Krell’s
Black Axe smashed down, its baleful prince relished the sound of fracturing evil spirit, but could spare no more
blade hacking deep into Sigvald’s bone that accompanied each frenzied attention for his servant’s fate. The
silvered shield. By the fourth stroke, punch, not realising that it came as arrival of Throgg’s monstrous horde
the shield was but a tattered mass of often from his own breaking fingers as had shifted the battle’s fortunes.
metal and boarding, which the Geld- it did the wight’s skull. In the centre and to the north, the
Prince hurled into Krell’s face. The Doomed Legion had been all but
wight, temporarily blinded, didn’t see swept away by the brutish press of
the Sigvald’s next blow, which sliced bodies, and more bellowing creatures
cleanly through his left arm just below spilled down the slope at every
the shoulder. moment. Only to the south, where the
flame-scarred zombies had broken the
Krell gave an angry hiss at the sight of Kurgan shieldsmen, was the battlefield
his severed limb, and swung the Black yet in undead hands.
Axe down against the blade that had Only when the witchfires finally faded
dared to wound him. There was a dull from Krell’s eyes did Sigvald slump The Great Necromancer was
chink as the heavy axe-head struck back, his breathing ragged. At last, monstrously proud, and ill-inclined
the slender steel, and Sliverslash’s the Geld-Prince glanced down at to retreat. However, he recognised
blade snapped in two. Yet before the his crushed and bloody fingers, at at once that defeat was his only
wight could capitalise on his sudden hands that would never again wield alternative. He could raise his fallen
advantage, Sigvald sprang forward a weapon. Throwing back his head, army from the dead once more – he
and bore him to the ground. As Krell’s Sigvald screamed at the sky, the could even restore Krell to existence
helm struck the ashen ground, Sigvald sound fuelled as much by his anger as – but the effort would leave him badly
slammed Sliverslash’s broken spike by despair. drained, and it would do no good
into the wight’s glowering left eye if he reached the heart of the great
socket. Then, with his armoured knee He did not scream long. As the shout excavation as a spent force. Calling
braced against Krell’s remaining arm, turned into a broken, rasping sob, to his side those morghasts that
pinning the Black Axe to the ground, the head of a stone maul crashed into remained, the Great Necromancer
the prince laid about the wight’s head the side of Sigvald’s head, splitting bade Arkhan to cover his retreat, and
with his bare fists. his skull open and splattering brain- headed south.

‘M Y SERVANT.’ Nagash’s heavy voice echoed

through Arkhan’s thoughts.
The liche tore his attention from the battle and gazed
rewards. His master would restore him, as he had done
so many times before.
‘Yes, master. Do you have any further commands?’
respectfully up at his master’s dread form. Arkhan could Nagash paused for a moment, seemingly frozen by
see that the battle was going poorly, but he was certain indecision. For the first time Arkhan felt a spark of
that Nagash had a plan. His master always had a plan. unaccustomed dread in his withered heart. If his master
‘What would you have me do?’ Arkhan asked. did not truly know how events would unfold – was not
‘TAKE TWO HOSTS OF THE MORGHASTS. confident of ultimate victory...
HOLD THE ENEMY HERE, UNTIL YOUR LAST ‘DIE WELL, MY SERVANT,’ Nagash commanded.
STRENGTH IS GONE. DO NOT FAIL ME.’ Arkhan watched his master depart, his doubts
The liche accepted the death sentence unflinchingly. redoubling. Then, the monstrous horde was upon him,
He had perished before in Nagash’s service, and would and there was no longer any time for aught save his
gladly do so again. Loyalty had its price, as well as its impossible battle.

Chapter 4 | 201
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Chapter 4 | 203
 A CLASH OF LIFE AND DEATH
The dwarfs’ arrival at the Middenplatz odds worsened with every clash of nothing but cruel cheer. What little
had bought Alarielle’s Host of Life blades. Little by little, the ring of elves sanity the Blood Queen had once
a much-needed reprieve. Their first and forest spirits shrank in upon itself, possessed had long since been
salvo – as much stone from the leaving behind a tidemark of bodies washed away after her arrival at
eastern wall as iron shot – did little to mark every desperate struggle. Middenheim, replaced by a portion
to Hellebron’s witch elf and Skaramor The witch elves could match even of Khorne’s godly rage. From the top
followers, but it tore the howling the swiftest dryad blow for blow, and of her cauldron-shrine she spat and
warherds into bloody ruin. A few the thick armour of the northlanders railed, issuing orders and threats in
beastmen fought on beneath crude cheated all but the weightiest. Only a voice twisted by madness. Yet still
and tattered banners, inspired by the where Durthu and the treemen fought Hellebron remembered the vision
brutal examples of their chieftains, or did the ring of elves stand firm. The Be’lakor had shown her, a vision that
simply too lost to battle-lust to care. witch elves’ slender knives could do had promised that she would die at
Most reeled in disarray – easy prey little to these elders of the forest, and Alarielle’s hands, if the Everqueen
for elves and forest spirits who had a single whack from their thorny fists was not slain first. The Blood Queen’s
suddenly found hope amidst defeat, could pulp any of the Skaramor, no blades were ready in her hands as the
and for the dwarfs whose axes rose matter how thick his armour. shrine ground on.
and fell with grim certainty.
Thus did Hellebron hack a trail of
Soon, the eastern half of the carnage directly towards where her
Middenplatz was awash with a enemy fought, the heavy wheels of
panicked stampede of horn and hoof, her cauldron-shrine crunching over
the tide steadily slackening as axe, the broken dead. Laughing witch elves
arrow and shot did their deadly work. came leaping in the shrine’s wake.
However, those beastkin that did fight They were as lost to the Blood God’s
on died hard. Braying their coarse- will as their mad mistress, but this
tongued battle-prayers, they hacked served only to hone their murderous
at flesh and armour with frenzied skills further. Determined to prove
abandon, ceasing only when the last themselves queens of murder, the
spark of life left their bodies. The witch-warriors forsook opportunities
minotaurs were the worst, stamping to inflict lesser wounds, their slender
and goring their foes whilst ignoring blades lunging always for the throats
wounds that should have long ago and hearts of their besieged kinsmen.
seen them slain. It was against these
brutes that Gelt and Hammerson Further north, between Hellebron’s
sent their ironbreakers, trusting to cauldron and the Middenplatz’s
rune-bound gromril armour to defend wall, the Bloodthirster Karan’gar led
against the minotaurs’ mangling Alarielle fought on in Durthu’s his own charge. Skaramor fought
blows. For the most part, this trust shadow, lending her life-giving fearlessly in his shadow, certain that
was not misplaced, but too many magics to restore the wounded and the daemon’s hulking presence was
brave sons of the mountains perished the dying, but her fading strength Khorne’s blessing upon them all.
even so. was plain to all who saw her. The Karan’gar’s axe smashed down into a
Everqueen was radiant no more. She press of eternal guard, slaying half a
After what seemed like hours, but had aged centuries since her arrival dozen with a single stroke. Chanting
what in reality had been the most in Middenheim, her body ravaged by skullreapers crashed through the
fleeting of minutes, the last of the the magics she had drawn so heavily gap, their own axes adding to the
beastmen fled. But the danger was far upon. Alarielle’s skin was lined, slaughter. The treeman Skarana,
from over. Hellebron’s witch elves and and her once brilliant hair no longer seeing the northlanders loose within
Skaramor had been all but untouched shone, yet her will to fight remained the huddled formation, lumbered
by the dwarfs’ explosive entrance, as strong as ever. forward to fill the gap with his own
unwittingly shielded by the bodies body. Tribesmen gave brief, agonised
of their feral allies. These blood- Hellebron was one of many who screams as Skarana’s feet stomped
mad warriors alone outnumbered recognised the Everqueen’s fading down, and the strike of his heavy
Alarielle’s dwindling host, and the fortunes, and the sight brought her staff crumpled their armour. Seeing

208 | Chapter 4
at last a foe worthy of his strength,
Karan’gar flexed his whip, and strode
forth to slay the treeman.

For the second time that night,

the dwarfs proved to be Alarielle’s
salvation. A low growl echoed across
the Middenplatz as they advanced
on the witch elves and Skaramor
assailing the Host of Life’s southern
flank. Hammerson and his kin had lost
much in recent months, and had many
grudges to repay. Moreover, none
amongst the Throng of Metal would
have denied that there was some
small satisfaction in proving that the
arrogant wood elves needed their aid.

Drakeguns roared a torrent of

alchemical fire that tore apart
Hellebron’s howling horde. The salvo
flung armoured bodies across the
Blood Queen’s approach, throwing
already anarchic ranks into complete
disorder. Before the echoes of the
blast had faded away, the deep-
throated war horns of Zhufbar
sounded, and the dwarfs hurled
themselves into the fight.

Hammerson’s throng was as

unstoppable as a glacier’s advance.
They came as a great, relentless
wedge of axes and shields that split
Hellebron’s host in two. Golden light
danced across the dwarfs’ weapons
as Gelt’s magic awoke the full power
of ancestral runes. Axes trailed
glittering light through the night sky,
and hacked apart northland plate as
easily as the witch elves’ bare flesh.
Gromril armour flared and shone with
each return blow, proof against all but
the most savage of strikes.

Through it all, the dwarfs kept perfect

order. At Hammerson’s command, the
slopes of the wedge turned outward,
forming shield walls to the east and
west. Hammerson commanded the
east, and Gelt the west. Leaving their
dead behind, the Zhufbarak advanced,
the two lines hinging around the
wedge’s point to prevent the Skaramor
to the north breaking into the dead
space between the walls.
 The dwarfs’ intervention had blow. Rune axes carved wicked, At once, the treeman’s dryad
brought Hellebron’s momentum to efficient arcs above the locked shields, handmaidens let out a shrill cry of
a shuddering halt. Moreover, it had the magically honed blades slicing mourning, and fell upon the Skaramor
divided her host into two disordered through the thick northland steel and with renewed ferocity. But hatred and
forces. The smaller of the two – which opening flesh to the bone. Gelt’s wall grief were no match for the battle-
included the Blood Queen herself – buckled repeatedly, but always held. hardened fury of the northlanders,
was now trapped between a line of The dwarfs would have died many and many of the dryads soon joined
Hammerson’s shields and the Host times over rather than bear the shame their master in death.
of Life. Where before Hellebron had of failure. Thus they bound their
drawn upon on a tide of enraged wounds with dirty rags, swigged their Durthu saw Skarana fall, and heard
Skaramor to reinforce her witch elves’ last dregs of Bugman’s XXXXXX, and the Bloodthirster’s savage cry of
numbers, now she had to face a battle battled on. victory. He would have challenged
on a more even footing. Had the Blood Karan’gar, were it not for the fact
Queen yet possessed her wits, she Further north, Karan’gar’s whip that to have done so would have
might have balked at that prospect. lashed tight around Skarana’s upper left the ailing Everqueen unguarded.
As it was, she was too far gone into torso, pinning his arms close about Only a thin wall of spears now stood
Khorne’s madness to care. Disdaining his chest. Sap welled up beneath the between Alarielle and Hellebron’s
the dwarfen shields that pressed hard barbs as the treeman struggled vainly wild cultists, and the treeman did not
upon her, she exhorted her cultists against the coils. One arm ripped trust the dwarfs to reach his mistress
to greater effort, and hurled them free, but the daemon’s axe hacked before the foe did. Alarielle, however,
towards the Everqueen. down before Skarana could pull away. was more ready to place her faith in
Splinters of bark rained down on the the Zhufbarak. Moreover, she knew
As Hammerson’s dwarfs ground hard dryads and Skaramor battling at the that now only Durthu could match
upon Hellebron’s forces in the east, giants’ feet, and at last Skarana tore the Bloodthirster’s terrible strength.
Gelt’s held firm to the west. Theirs free of the lash, sap streaming down The ancient treeman commanded
was the harder task by far: to hold the his ravaged body. the might of all the ancients who had
greater part of the northlander horde perished before him, and no daemon
at bay whilst the smaller was crushed could endure against such power.
between Hammerson’s shields and In taut tones, she bade the treeman
the surviving elves. Gelt laboured leave her side. When he made no
from behind the Zhufbarak banners, move to do so, the Everqueen’s tone
drawing upon the runic power of the hardened, and the request became
ironbreakers’ armour to bind their an order. Reluctantly, Durthu obeyed.
shields tighter than mere mortal Entrusting his queen’s care to the few
might would ever allow. The wizard remaining sisters of Avelorn, he bore
felt strangely vulnerable. It had been down upon the greater daemon.
a long time since he had been forced The ancient’s staff thrust forward,
to fight a battle from the ground, but striking the Bloodthirster full in the With a Bloodthirster fighting at
the wounds Quicksilver had taken chest. Karan’gar staggered back, his their fore, the Skaramor would
in King’s Glade meant the pegasus hooves kicking northlanders aside have driven aside what was left of
could not fly, and could thus only as he sought purchase. The end of Skarana’s handmaidens. However, as
bear him as a horse would. Not that the staff glowed a brilliant green, the northlanders charged in behind
it otherwise mattered much. Gelt had and thorns whipped out from its tip, Karan’gar, a chill wind blew through
no intention of breaking faith with his clawing blindly for the daemon’s the fire-blackened defences beneath
dwarf allies – they would triumph, or flesh. But Karan’gar had found his the wall. Dark magic filled the broken
they would perish together. balance now, and his great axe swept bodies of the elves and northlanders
out again, severing the thorn clusters who had died there, the corpses
Sparks flew and shields shuddered as and splitting Skarana’s staff part way lurching awkwardly to their feet
the northlanders hurled themselves down its length. The Bloodthirster at the command of a will not their
at Gelt’s wall, but the line held true. came forward again, his axe once own. Khornate tribesmen perished
Northlander axe-blades hooked over more hewing deep into the dying in droves as the dead arose, for their
dwarfen shield rims many times, treeman’s flesh. This time, the damage eyes were upon the living, not the
weakening the wall enough for other was too great. With a creaking wail, slain. More died soon after, as Vlad
weapons to crash home against the Skarana toppled sideways, his valiant von Carstein dropped lightly from the
Zhufbarak beyond. No Skaramor spirit fleeing before his cloven corpse wall, and forced his way to the head
lived long enough to strike a second hit the ground. of his resurrected army.

210 | Chapter 4
War-forged though the Skaramor down upon the fading Everqueen. Hellebron’s crackling blade coming
were, there was not one amongst Dryads flung themselves up the about once more, this time to claim
them who could match Vlad’s shrine’s iron stairs, their wicked claws her head.
immortal skill. The vampire employed tearing and slicing deep into the
finesse and brutality in equal Blood Queen’s flesh. Hellebron paid Even Alarielle didn’t know what
measure, deftly parrying in one the wounds no heed. Laughing, she spurred her next action. Perhaps it
moment and overpowering through hacked the spirits apart, then vaulted was Ghyran whispering through her
unholy strength in the next. The same down to the foot of the shrine to claim thoughts, or maybe it was merely the
could not be said of the zombies, Alarielle’s life. instinct of desperation. As Hellebron’s
but Vlad used them only to shield sword cut towards her neck, the
himself from the northlanders’ blows, Even at the height of her strength, the Everqueen lashed out with a half-
and trusted to his own blade, Blood Everqueen would have been sorely put gathered spell – the healing magics
Drinker, for the killing. to defeat Hellebron. Though she had swept not over her own wounds, but
learned blade-craft from the finest into the Blood Queen’s crazed mind.
Thus, by fortune rather than design, warriors in Ulthuan, Alarielle was a In that instant, the renewing power
the Skaramor attack stalled long creature of peace more than war, and of Ghyran flooded across Hellebron’s
enough for Durthu to reach the even the most skilful of her tutors fractured psyche, a cleansing gale
fray. The Eldest of Ancients struck would have been beaten down by the that swept away the clouds of
Karan’gar at a lumbering run, Blood Queen’s initial flurry of blows. madness that had dominated her
smashing the Bloodthirster sideways As it was, the first strike carved a being for thousands of years. The
into the Middenplatz wall. There was great splinter from the Everqueen’s insanity was too entrenched to be
a crackle of snapping bones as the staff, and the second screamed banished for long. For a split second,
Bloodthirster’s wing folded back on past her head. Had Alarielle been however, Hellebron perceived the
itself, but this was quickly drowned a fraction slower in twisting aside, world – and her own place in it – with
beneath Karan’gar’s bellow of pain as that blow would have split her skull sane eyes. At once, the Blood Queen
Durthu’s Daith-forged blade punched in two. It was only a short reprieve. was paralysed, visions of a lifetime of
through his breastplate and deep into Hellebron’s vicious kick caught malice pouring through her. Her strike
his monstrous flesh. the Everqueen full in the stomach, faltered, her sword fell to the ground.
sending her staggering backwards.
Even mortally wounded, the daemon Even though her vision was clouded
fought on. Pushing himself away A pair of eternal guardsmen threw with agony, Alarielle saw the change
from the wall with a meaty hand, he themselves at Hellebron from either overcome her foe. The Everqueen
hacked at Durthu, each blow sending side. The Blood Queen’s twin blades urged her leaden limbs into action,
splintered shards of bark flying from arced out in perfect synchronicity, and cast about for a weapon. Numbed
the ancient’s hide. But Durthu was an and her assailants fell headless. fingers closed on an eternal guard’s
altogether different prey to Skarana. Alarielle made the most of the broken spear. Ignoring the desperate
He weathered those fearsome blows distraction, and conjured a wall of pain as her half-healed wounds
without uttering a sound, then twisted thorns in Hellebron’s path. The Blood opened anew, Alarielle thrust the
his blade free of the Bloodthirster’s Queen didn’t even slow her pace, weapon upwards. The steel tip took
chest, tearing the daemon almost in but dove into the tangle, hate driving Hellebron beneath the ribs, and
half and casting his vile spirit back her through the flesh-tearing spikes. pierced her heart. A heartbeat later,
into the Realm of Chaos. Before Alarielle could conjure another the two queens collapsed – one dead,
defence, Hellebron rammed her sword the other nearly so.
Durthu’s absence was hard-felt in the deep into the Everqueen’s belly.
brutal melee around the Everqueen. Hellebron’s cultists were undismayed
Without the treeman at their side, the Alarielle screamed as Hellebron by their queen’s fall – if anything, it
dryads and eternal guard were being ripped the sword away. The drove them only to greater frenzy.
overwhelmed by Khorne-pledged Everqueen fell to her knees, one hand Roaring and shrieking, they hurled
blades. The Skaramor and witch elves pressed tight across her wound, the themselves anew at the surviving
fought on ferociously, unaware of the other losing its grip on her alabaster band of elves, to complete what their
dwarfs that steadily chopped their staff. She could feel her lifeblood mistress had begun. But the moment
rear ranks to offal. pulsing away. Ghyran was trying to had been lost. Durthu, returned from
mend the wound, but the black magics his battle with Karan’gar moments
Hellebron gave a triumphant shriek as of the Blood Queen’s blade fought too late to save Alarielle, struck the
her cauldron-shrine crashed through it. Briefly, Alarielle bent her magics leading ranks of the northlanders like
the thin asrai shield wall, and bore to hasten the healing, then saw an avalanche.

Chapter 4 | 211
Armoured bodies scattered left It was then, with a clamour of gongs
and right before the treeman’s and a mournful drone, that a new
onslaught. With a roar that shook the army made its presence known in
Middenplatz, Durthu tore Hellebron’s the Middenplatz. In truth, it had
cauldron free of its moorings and been advancing for some time, but
hurled it into the Skaramor horde. its shuffling approach through the
Fresh screams broke out as boiling western gate had been lost beneath
blood spilled across armour and the war cries of Skaramor and the
flesh, but Durthu was not yet done. shrieking of dryads. Even then, had
Bracing one massive fist against each the wind been blowing from the west,
of the shrine’s twin staircases, he tore rather than the north, none could have
it apart with a screech of tortured ignored the reek of diseased flesh that
metal. Given heart by the treeman’s hung about the newcomers as thick as
deeds, the last of Alarielle’s host dug the swarms of buzzing flies. As it was,
deep into their failing strength and the last of the Skaramor had scarcely
made one final effort. fallen beneath Zhufbarak axes when
the Nurgle host trudged home against
Trapped between Vlad’s undead, the increasingly ragtag shield wall.
Hammerson’s dwarfs and the remnant
of the Host of Life, the eastern half of
Hellebron’s horde was at last crushed.
Durthu was the hammer, his Daith-
wrought blade wielded in one hand,
and a mangled shard of the cauldron-
shrine in the other. The Zhufbarak The dwarfs allowed themselves
were the anvil, their overlapped but a moment of quiet weariness
shields unflinching. The Skaramor and at the sight of their foes. Then they
the witch elves did not perish easily, raised their axes, bellowed their
and many hundreds more skulls were oaths of battle, and met this new
claimed for Khorne before they were onslaught with the same fortitude
at last defeated, but defeated they they had brought to every battle since
were. As healers clustered around Averheim’s fall.
the Everqueen’s fallen form, the last
tribesman fell dead, his head split by To the south, the wood elves’ plight
a blow from Hammerson’s runic staff. was even worse. Weapons and
shields had to be cast aside as they
That left only the western half of disintegrated into maggots and filth,
Hellebron’s army, held at bay thus far leaving their bearers defenceless
by dwarfen resolve and Gelt’s magics. against the glistening plagueswords.
Twice, Gelt had ordered a fighting But the direst straits were in the
retreat. Each time, the Zhufbarak north, where Vlad’s risen army held
shield walls backed away from the Zhufbarak right flank. There
mounds of bloodied dead, the wings advanced Isabella von Carstein,
of the line folding back on themselves walking through the clashing
as their numbers were gradually blades with as much concern as
whittled down. Now, Gelt’s dwarfs a noblewoman out for a summer
were themselves on the brink of being stroll. Where she passed, the gift of
overwhelmed. Yet Vlad’s undead Nurgle in her veins unravelled Vlad’s
came down from the north to thicken unbreathing horde, allowing the
their right flank, and weary elves plaguebearers to advance unopposed.
looped around to strengthen their left. Soon Vlad had no choice but to retreat
Hammerson’s Zhufbarak reinforced through the fire-blackened stakes at
the centre, for it was there that the the foot of the Middenplatz wall, and
fighting was thickest. At last, the tide up onto the ramparts high above.
of Skaramor slackened, and victory Isabella followed, a thin smile dancing
seemed possible. across her lips.
T he dread abyssal made no sound as it
approached, but its dark magic stench
betrayed its presence. Vlad turned to face
the creature’s rider with weary resolve.
Whatever joy he had taken in their earlier
confrontations had now left him. The
rivalries between father-in-darkness and
thankless offspring seemed so trivial now.
‘Have you come to kill me, or to help?’
Vlad demanded.
Mannfred crooked a lip into a sneer,
as Razarak alighted on the rampart. ‘I’ll
waste my time on neither, if it’s all the
same to you.’
Vlad shook his head. ‘You don’t change.
Sooner or later, you’ll have to decide
whose side you’re on.’
‘I did that long ago. I fight for myself.’
Vlad shook his head. ‘Then you are
more like Nagash than you think. Whether
just or cruel, a true ruler believes in
something greater than himself. A tyrant
believes only in himself.’
‘Am I to believe that everything you
have done, you have done out of largesse?’
‘Not in the beginning, perhaps,’ Vlad
shrugged. ‘In any case, you may believe
what you wish. Just remember: fate is not
kind to tyrants.’
‘Nor is it kind to fools,’ Mannfred spat.
‘And I know in whose ranks I would rather
be counted.’
‘Why are you here, boy?’ Vlad asked,
not bothering to disguise his weariness.
‘To bask in the conviviality of the family
reunion, of course.’
Vlad became aware of another presence
on the rampart. Slowly, he turned back
towards the gatehouse door, and saw
Isabella standing there.
‘Greetings, husband,’ she said,
her musical voice overlaid with her
possessor’s guttural tones. ‘Will you not
embrace me, one last time?’
Behind Vlad, Mannfred laughed and
withdrew from the rampart. At once,
Vlad knew that the younger vampire had
sought only to delay him.
‘Very well,’ Vlad said at last, as much to
himself as to Isabella. ‘One final embrace,
before the end.’
Once again, Isabella’s speed surprised
Vlad. As their blades cut and parried,
it took every drop of Vlad’s battle-
honed skill to match her. Matters were
made worse by the fact that Vlad
knew he could not allow Isabella to
touch him – he had seen too often
what Nurgle’s ‘gift’ did to undead
flesh. Moreover, Vlad could not, even
now, bring himself to harm Isabella
– no matter what evil now had
possession of her body and soul. Alas,
he knew that nothing, save death,
could drive the daemon from his
beloved’s soul.

Back and forth along the rampart

they fought. Gradually, Vlad’s parries
became slower, his ripostes more
reckless. Then, as the battle once
more returned to the gatehouse
where it had begun, Isabella scored
her first, meaningful blow. The tip
of the countess’ sword tore through
the cold flesh of Vlad’s sword arm,
and Blood Drinker clanged on the
ground. With a cold smile that was
more Bolorog’s than her own, Isabella
advanced upon her weaponless
opponent, hand outstretched to bless
him with Nurgle’s gift. Yet despite
all appearances, Vlad was not done.
Unable to bring himself to end his
beloved’s existence, the vampire
had settled on an altogether more
desperate plan.

Already the Carstein Ring was

reknitting Vlad’s severed muscles,
restoring motion to his wounded
hand, but he made no attempt to
pick up his fallen blade. Instead, he
darted forward, swifter than thought,
and slipped under and around
Isabella’s grasping fingers. Such was
the suddenness of his move that the
countess had no chance to react. As
he ducked past, Vlad seized Isabella’s
outstretched arm at the wrist, and
twisted it up and behind her back.
The countess hissed in pain, and
struggled to pull free, but her strength
was no match for Vlad’s. He tore the
blade from her free hand, careless
that the deed cost him two fingers,
and held her close.
Already, Vlad could feel Isabella’s Rising as if from a dream, the Hammerson. The two had shared
curse gnawing at his flesh. He closed Everqueen took in the sight of many perils since their meeting at
his mind to the pain it caused, and Durthu’s petrified form, and knew Averheim; the dwarf at once knew
urged his disintegrating body to one at once the sacrifice the ancient had what was in the wizard’s mind, and
last effort. Shucking off the Carstein made. Anger mingled with sadness gave a slow nod of assent.
Ring, Vlad forced it onto one of in Alarielle’s heart. She reached back
Isabella’s fingers. Then, before his last to a time before the Rhana Dandra With only a moment’s hesitation,
strength failed, the eldest of the von had begun, when she had not been Gelt set his heels to Quicksilver’s
Carsteins flung his arms about the the Incarnate of Life, but Alarielle, flanks. Though no longer able to take
struggling countess, and heaved them bane of daemons. Binding together wing, the pegasus was swift enough
both off the rampart’s outer edge. For the dying embers of Durthu’s soul, the upon the ground – certainly enough
a long moment, the air was filled with power of Ghyran raging within her, to outpace corpulent daemons of
Vlad’s bitter laughter, and Isabella’s and the purity that was hers by right Nurgle. Quicksilver whinnied and
desperate scream. Both sounds cut off of lineage, the Everqueen closed her sprang away. Gelt passed Alarielle at
suddenly as the plummeting vampires eyes, threw back her head and sang a full gallop. The wizard gave a sharp
struck one of the fire-seared stakes single perfect note. word of command, and golden hands
at the wall’s foot, the point punching gathered the Everqueen up and onto
through Vlad’s heart an instant before White fire, its tips crested with Quicksilver’s back. Plague drones
it pierced Isabella’s. brilliant green, pulsed out across buzzed after them, but Hammerson
the Middenplatz. It passed over the barked a command, and a salvo of
No one marked Vlad’s passing, not shrunken ring of Zhufbarak and handgun fire tore the daemons apart.
then, for those that remained were too elven shields without harm, but those
intent on their own survival. Slowly daemons it touched burned to ash. As they passed by the northern
but surely, the surviving Zhufbarak Alarielle had felt hundreds of daemons gatehouse, Gelt caught a glance of
and wood elves were forced back, perish. Yet when she opened her Vlad’s lonely, impaled corpse, his
their wall of shields refashioned eyes, she saw wearily that thousands lifeless eyes fixed skyward, and a
as a ragged ring that sheltered the more remained. Durthu’s sacrifice had smile upon his lips. For a moment, the
convalescing Everqueen. Durthu alone brought them a breathing space, no wizard felt an unexpected sadness,
felt no weariness, just a rage that more. Pushing her way to Gelt’s and an echo of history strangely repeated,
redoubled with every fallen ally. He Hammerson’s side, she prepared to and wondered what fate had laid the
knew that defeat was nigh, and that make a final stand. vampire low. Then, Quicksilver was
the world would end soon after. This, through the gate, and into the streets
the Eldest of Ancients could not allow Of all whom remained in the of the Palast district.
– not whilst he yet had the power to Middenplatz, it was only Balthasar
alter events. Gelt who kept any hope. Where
others saw only a death delayed, the
With a snarl of sorrow, Durthu hurled Incarnate of Metal saw opportunity,
his sword deep into the daemons’ but one that was fading fast. For the
ranks, the Daith-forged steel spitting first time since Gelt’s arrival, the north
a Great Unclean One like a hog over gate was clear – at least for a time. As
a firepit. Then, the treeman turned the daemons lurched over the ashes of
and knelt at the Everqueen’s side, and their comrade to renew their assault,
gently rested a single gnarled finger Gelt exchanged a glance with Gotri
upon her brow. Once, long ago, one
of his brothers had sacrificed himself
to rid an elven queen of a blight upon
her soul. Now, Durthu willingly gave
of his life, not to dispel a darkness,
but to usher in new life. The treeman’s
thorned skin withered and cracked;
leaves fell as dust from his shoulders.
As Durthu’s spirit guttered and died,
Alarielle’s bloomed anew. Her wounds
reknitted, the lines faded from her
skin, and a brilliant light shone about
her once more.

Chapter 4 | 215
216 | Chapter 4
Chapter 4 | 217
 THE BATTLE OF ULRIC’S BONES
The Emperor and Tyrion drove their Before the brute could shake him Reiksguard lances punched through
knights hard through Middenheim’s free, the firebird lunged his hook- armour and into the soft flesh
ruined streets, guided ever eastward beak into the giant’s blistering flesh, beyond. Dragons plucked skullcrusher
by the flames on the horizon. They tearing free a great bloody gobbet. knights from their brass saddles
slowed for nothing, not for the Caradryan’s halberd came about and cast them wailing over the great
roaming packs of skaven, the wild- a heartbeat later, hacking into the excavation’s edge. Skycutters darted
eyed northlander warbands, nor giant’s skull in a spray of blood to and fro above the milling horde,
even the daemons who haunted the and bone. With a sickening lurch, long spears thrusting down to pierce
possessed alleys of Sudgarten. Each the giant fell sideways, slamming the eye sockets of crimson helms.
foe was met with lowered lances and into the northlanders with enough Demigryphs and cold ones clawed
a fervent cry, or else driven back by force to shatter the rock underfoot. and bit at juggernauts, and knight
dragonfire delivered from on high. Ashtari was already away, talons matched steel with knight. Ordinarily,
raking a warband of skullcrushers as no warrior of the Empire or Athel
Princes of Caledor swooped fearlessly the gore-slicked knights began their Loren could have hoped to match a
through the skies, braving the storm thunderous charge. Khorne-pledged brute blow for blow,
and fire in order to clear a path for but desperate times lent them the
their allies. Not all survived their strength to prevail.
audacity. One dragon was struck
by a bolt of emerald lightning, its Deathclaw was ever in motion. Each
plunging corpse demolishing a row of swooping pounce the griffon made
dwellings before it came fully to rest. ended in blood and horror. His talons
Many more brave knights – elf and crushed northlanders where they
man – perished during that headlong stood, or else pinned them in place
charge, dragged from the saddle by until his beak could tear them apart.
a ratman’s claws, or hacked down by Tyrion was scarcely more than a
a northlander’s wild axe. But there dozen paces behind the griffon,
was no force in Sudgarten that could Malhandir keeping effortless pace
hold against the fury of Deathclaw, with Deathclaw’s savage advance.
or against the searing white light that The Incarnate wielded his light as
was Tyrion’s to command. a weapon. Where it fell, daemons
were snatched into oblivion, and
At last, the Emperor’s charge carried Chaos-tainted mortals were struck
him out of the Sudgarten, and into blind, clawing at their eyes and easy
the levelled waste of the Ulricsmund. So embroiled were the Skaramor marks for the vengeful elves that rode
There, the knights saw the cause in their battle against the Host of behind the prince. Caught between
of the fire they had followed. On Fire, that they did not mark the new fire, light and the vengeance of
the edge of the great excavation, a arrivals. Only when the ground began ‘weak’ southlanders who had years
dwindling host of elves drove hard to tremble with the pounding of of horrors to repay, the warriors of
for the Temple of Ulric. Fire was their hooves did the rearmost northlanders the Skaramor and their daemon allies
cloak and their shield. It spilled from recognise their peril. Chieftains began to fail.
the blades of their weapons and from bellowed orders when they saw the
the phoenixes who circled in the gleam of silver and white amongst the One by one, the Skaramor warbands
skies above. Roaring skullreapers and gloom, and the ominous silhouettes broke, spilling away north to the
hissing bloodletters surrounded the of dragon-wings against the storm- Temple of Ulric, and the uneven
elves, a blood-hungry tide that never chased clouds. But their orders went roadway that led down into the
slackened, but the wake of blackened unheard amongst the clamour of great excavation. Bereft of allies, the
corpses stood as sickening testament battle, or were ignored by warriors daemons felt their grip on the mortal
to the slaughter Caradryan’s host had too lost in the prospect of claiming world begin to slacken, and the Realm
wrought in their defiance. skulls for Khorne. Only when the of Chaos drew them inexorably home.
first lances thrust home, and the None of this went unnoticed by
Even as Tyrion arrived at the first death-screams rang out, did the wrathful Khorne, and a bellow deeper
Ulricsmund, he saw Ashtari swoop northlander warbands truly react. By and more piercing than the loudest
onto the back of a bellowing giant. then, it was too late. thunder shook the skies.

214 | Chapter 4
 Blazing meteors penetrated the ending, was easily distracted to other Most of the leading wave were
clouds, each one a brass-plated concerns – even as the End Times northland hounds, all lean muscle,
skull plucked from the Blood God’s drew to a climax – and some quarrel greasy fur and keen fangs. Most of
throne. One by one, they crashed with his brothers now commanded the those wretched creatures had once
indiscriminately into the seething Blood God’s attention. been men, twisted into new and more
mass upon the Ulricsmund, servile shapes by dread Ka’Bandha,
slaughtering the Skaramor as Thus did the Incarnate host come Lord of the Hunt. Others were stray
readily as their enemies. Khorne before the great excavation, and brutes, separated from their masters
was displeased by his worshippers’ find their path blocked. A blaze of during the running battles across
cowardice, and strove to smite them crackling warpflame guarded the the city, and drawn by instinct to the
as readily as he did the mortals who descent, a deadly barrier that none shelter of the pack. They pounced
fought against his cause. could traverse. Beyond the fire, without hesitation, driven by a terrible
raven-headed sorcerers cackled hunger and a will not their own. Most
Yet the skulls also took their toll their blasphemous spells whilst lurid perished in that first attack, for the
of elven and Imperial lives. One daemons capered and sneered. None Incarnate host’s blades were ready for
slammed into the Host of Fire, all but amongst the host doubted that the them. Even so, many a pair of fangs
obliterating a pride of white lions. Incarnates could breach the barricade tore a throat ragged, or dragged a
Another struck a circling phoenix, – they had come too far to be denied knight from his steed so that the pack
hurling the firebird’s broken body to by mere sorcery. However, it was could tear him limb from limb.
the ground. The last of the Knights another question whether they would
Griffon, who had stood stalwart at the be given the time to make the attempt. Behind the dogs came warhounds of
Emperor’s side since Averheim’s siege Already, crude chants were echoing a different sort. These still wore the
began, were consumed by flame when from the north. In the shadows shape of men, but Ka’Bandha had
a howling skull slammed into their beyond the temple, the Skaramor were changed their minds as surely as he
formation’s heart. regathering their courage. had warped their fellows’ bodies.
No intelligence lurked behind those
There was no shelter from the bloodshot eyes, just a desire to rend
bombardment. What few ruins still and tear, to sink their teeth into still-
stood collapsed like matchsticks pulsing flesh, and feel the warm blood
when skulls struck them. Tyrion wove spill free. These feralkin howled like
a shield of pure magic, a dome of animals as they charged, and perished
shining light beneath which he sought like vermin beneath the disciplined
to shelter his allies, but it shattered blades of the Incarnate host. But they
like glass under the first impact, dove onto the waiting blades without
scattering shards of razor-sharp light hesitation, dragging swords from
across the Ulricsmund. With no other hands with the weight of their own
choice, the united Hosts of Fire, Light bodies. It was a new and desperate
and Heavens fought on as the skies insanity in a night full of madness,
fell, each warrior amongst their ranks and there was no cure save death.
praying for victory, or at the very
least a swift death. On they forged Then, with a swoop of wings like
through the sea of fleeing Skaramor, a peal of thunder, the huntsmaster
trying to ignore the flaming doom that himself descended upon the
screamed from above. Worse was to come. As Tyrion and Ulricsmund. Spreading his wings
Caradryan wrestled with the magic wide, Ka’Bandha issued a bellow of
Only when the combined Incarnate of the warpflame barrier, a chorus of challenge that boomed across the
host was nigh unto the Temple of gnawing, feral howls rang out from city. On hearing it, the Skaramor
Ulric’s walls did the bombardment the north, followed by the percussive lurking in the temple’s shadow found
cease. None believed that a holy thud of many hundreds of running their courage once more, and came
presence within the shrine had caused feet. As the Incarnates laboured, forth to serve the cause of slaughter.
the attacks to falter; so slighted and the Emperor reformed their forces Further south, the Imperials within
defiled was the once-grand building to face this new threat. The howling the Incarnate host made the sign of
that no wholesome god could have grew louder as weary elves and men the hammer, and prayed for Sigmar to
any longer held power over it. In this, hurried into position, at last reaching save them. The elves placed their faith
the warriors of the host were correct. the pinnacle of the Ulricsmund as new in the Incarnates, for they knew that
Khorne’s wrath, though never- foes arrived to do battle. mortal steel alone could not prevail.

216 | Chapter 4
Recognising that to wait for the
oncoming horde would bring only
death, the Emperor threw his knights
forward. A cavalry line made for a
poor shield wall, but a counter-charge
gave a chance of survival, however
slim. Banners raised, trumpets sang;
the last charge of men and elves
sprang forward through the baying
hounds and feralkin. The Emperor led
their charge, his battle cry bellowed
in the old tongue of the Unberogens,
not heard in those parts for long
centuries. Propelled by Deathclaw’s
mighty wings, he soared towards
Ka’Bandha’s looming form, runefang
brandished high. The Bloodthirster,
recognising his prey come forth at
last, gave a triumphant roar of his
own and took to the air, his aim to at
last seize the Emperor’s skull.

Both man and daemon were too slow.

The two foes were yet a quarter-mile
apart when a bolt of winged flame
surged past Deathclaw and struck
the Bloodthirster head-on above
the Temple of Ulric. Fire ringed the
Bloodthirster, forcing him to abandon
his charge and confront his new foe.

Caradryan and Ashtari hacked and

tore at Ka’Bandha, seeking to keep
the other off-balance. The Incarnate
of Fire had known at once that the
Emperor could not match the daemon
in an even contest. An Incarnate’s
power was needed, or so Caradryan
had deemed. However, Ka’Bandha
was a Bloodthirster of the third
host; he had fought both Tyrion and
Malekith to a standstill in Athel Loren,
and one Incarnate alone had little
hope of besting him – something that
Caradryan soon realised.

No matter how Ashtari tore at

daemon’s flesh, no matter the fires
that crackled across his monstrous
body, Ka’Bandha did not slow, did
not even acknowledge what must
have been fearsome agony. Even the
wicked edge of Caradryan’s Phoenix
Blade, though it sliced into the
daemon readily enough, seemed not
to cause the brute any pain.
 At the same time, Ashtari was backed away as Ka’Bandha’s hooves to his own forge-born flames. As
forced to break constantly away crunched into the rubble – none dared the Emperor dove towards him,
from the fight, lest the impact of the deny the daemon his kill. Caradryan the Bloodthirster lashed out with
Bloodthirster’s whirling hammer-flail rolled onto his back. His fingers his hammer-flail. The brazen head
strike him from the skies. Yet each strained for the Phoenix Blade’s haft, struck Deathclaw with the audible
time the phoenix peeled away, he but it was far beyond his reach. With crack of a breaking wing. The griffon
came back harder and more reckless a sneer, Ka’Bandha raised one cracked was smashed out of the air, his
than before, determined to elicit some hoof high and slammed it down onto unconscious body slewing around
roar of agony from the daemon. the Incarnate’s chest. In the moment as it ploughed through the temple’s
before impact, Caradryan closed his rubble. The Emperor was flung from
Turning to follow the phoenix, eyes and uttered a single word, both his saddle by the impact, thrown high
Ka’Bandha shifted tactics. His a command to the magic in his blood through the remnants of a stained-
hammer’s chain blazed red as he and a final curse upon his slayer. glass window, and into the gloomy
whirled it through the air, then let chamber beyond.
fly. The Bloodthirster had timed his Burn!
throw perfectly, and the hell-forged
links looped around the phoenix’s As the Emperor reached the duel,
neck and bit deep. Ashtari screeched he saw Ka’Bandha’s hoof crush
and swept his wings down in an Caradryan’s chest, and saw also
attempt to pull free, but Ka’Bandha’s sparks of flame burst from the
strength was too great. Hand over Incarnate’s corpse. They took root
hand, the Bloodthirster reeled the in the Bloodthirster’s flesh, running
phoenix in, ignoring the tempest of hungrily across his torso and limbs,
fire with which Caradryan smote him. growing in intensity until no part Ka’Bandha stomped through the
Ashtari clawed and bit at the daemon, of the daemon was not ablaze. rubble, angry fire trailing behind
the ichor-stained wounds blazing Ka’Bandha bellowed as Aqshy flowed him. Deathclaw lay before him, the
briefly, but there was no altering fate over him. He flailed and staggered, griffon’s feathers twitching as he
now. Ka’Bandha gave one last heave, his outstretched wings scattering the struggled against unconsciousness.
drawing the phoenix into a deadly feralkin and Skaramor in his shadow. Snarling in anticipation of his kill, the
embrace. Then he sank his fangs deep Seeing his opening, the Emperor Bloodthirster brought his hammer
into the firebird’s blazing plumage, urged Deathclaw on. slamming down on the beast’s skull.
and tore out Ashtari’s throat. Yet, as he did so, a shield of brilliant
As man and griffon closed with light coalesced in front of Deathclaw.
Ashtari went limp at once, the flames Ka’Bandha, the Bloodthirster’s tone The barrier shattered into a thousand
of his being rapidly turning dull and shifted from pain to a deep, rumbling gleaming shards as the hammer
ashen as the magic left his corpse. laughter. Though the fires in his flesh struck, but the intercession robbed
Giving voice to a rare shout of anger, had not receded, the daemon had Ka’Bandha’s blow of all force. Before
Caradryan sprang from his saddle plumbed the depths of his agony, the daemon could strike again, there
as the Bloodthirster let Ashtari’s and realised that he could endure the was a blur of motion, as Tyrion
corpse fall. The Incarnate’s halberd pain, for they were nothing compared arrived to oppose him.
gleamed as it clove the air, the blow
granted strength as gravity dragged
Caradryan swiftly groundward. The
blade struck Ka’Bandha’s brazen
crown, splitting its outflung crest
T he light was blinding, its touch painful, but it was nothing to the fire
of Aqshy that still burned in every fibre of his being. Ka’Bandha stared
down at the impudent elf who thought to challenge him. Had the mortals
and hacking deep into his scalp. The not yet learned that he was a foe beyond them? Not that it mattered.
Bloodthirster roared in agony for the Khorne would reward him for their deaths.
first time, and swatted at Caradryan’s ‘This beast and his master are mine to claim, bloodspeck,’ Ka’Bandha
falling body, shattering the Incarnate’s rumbled. ‘Flee now, and I shall not seek your death until this night’s work
legs as if they were twigs. is done.’
The Bloodthirster hoped that the elf would accept the offer. The hunt
Caradryan struck the Ulricsmund with was always more enjoyable than the kill. Besides, Karl Franz’s skull had
crushing force, his halberd jarring evaded him too long, and Ka’Bandha yearned to claim it.
from his hand. Feralkin howled at the The elf shifted in his saddle and scowled, his brilliant halo shining all
sight of wounded prey. They surged the stronger with his defiance. ‘I do not bargain with daemons. I kill them.’
towards the fallen Incarnate, then Then he raised his sword, and charged.

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Ka’Bandha had slain one Incarnate, from their hearts. Furthermore, when Skaramor warbands shifted course
but Tyrion was a far more challenging the Emperor was struck from the to oppose the newcomers. They
foe. Even before the power of Hysh skies, many of the Imperial knights bellowed their crude battle cries,
had infused him, the prince had felt dismay claw at their hearts. They clashed their blood-stained blades
been one of the mortal world’s fought on, but the sudden shock of and hurled severed heads into the
foremost warriors – now, he was all their leader’s fall threw many a charge greenskins’ ranks. Such bloodthirsty
but unstoppable. Thus he matched into disarray, and the Skaramor displays had served them well before,
Ka’Bandha’s savage strength with were quick to take advantage. Only but they had no effect whatsoever on
speed and skill. Again and again the the druchii who fought for Tyrion the orcs, who simply roared all the
hammer crashed down, throwing kept their haughty composure. The louder and increased their headlong
dust and wicked stone shards in all Captain of the Phoenix Guard had pace. The two lines slammed together
directions, but Malhandir’s swiftness been their enemy far longer than their with a crash loud enough to be
ensured that Tyrion was never struck. ally, and the human Emperor was, by heard across the Ulricsmund, the
The hammer-flail’s chain whistled his very definition, an inferior being. force of the impact hurling armoured
through the air with every strike, but northlanders and bleeding greenskins
each time, Sunfang’s gleaming blade The Incarnates’ casualties tallied ever high into the air, or back into their
deflected the links before they could higher, the bellowed war cries and own ranks.
snare its wielder. the clash of steel echoed out across
the city, luring new warriors to the Grimgor fought at the orcs’ head,
In return, Tyrion lashed out at fight. Kurgan, skaven – even a few the standard of the Immortulz close
Ka’Bandha with banishing light. bestial survivors of the Middenplatz at his back. The ogres, however,
However, as in King’s Glade, the massacre – flocked to the Ulricsmund displayed a fraction more canniness,
beast’s savage will saw him battle on. and flung themselves into battle. and held back long enough for their
The killing, then, was left to Sunfang’s ironblasters to be wheeled across
edge, but even Tyrion’s most the mangled pile of skaven dead.
savage blows left the Bloodthirster When the last war machine was in
untroubled. His flesh afire and place, flaming brands were touched
assailed by cleansing light, the to fuses and a volley of heavy iron
Bloodthirster was beyond pain such balls whipped across the Ulricsmund,
as Tyrion could cause. What bellows tearing bloody holes in the flank of
he uttered were threats and snarls, a Skaramor warband, and all but
not cries of agony, and Ka’Bandha obliterating a host of Kurgan knights.
grew all the more savage even as the A chorus of belly-laughs boomed
elf began to tire. out at the grisly spectacle, and then
the ogres barged forward over the
Anarchy reigned across the Kurgans’ bloody remains.
Ulricsmund. The Skaramor and
feralkin paid little heed to tactics, Few of Tyrion’s embattled knights
and simply went wherever slaughter had attention to spare for the sudden
took them. At first, this worked to the arrivals from the south. Those
favour of the elf and human knights, who did, welcomed the Beast-
who wheeled and charged so that Waaagh!’s arrival – at least so long
their lances and swords always struck as they beat the Skaramor bloody.
the foe where they were unprepared. Even so, many knights thereafter
Where the path was blocked, dragons WAAAGH! chose to fight battles that led them
roared overhead, their flames forging steadily northward, away from the
paths of twisted and blackened flesh Grimgor’s horde spilled into the unpredictable greenskins who pressed
through the Chaos horde. However, Ulricsmund from the south, the in from the south.
as the battle went on, the balance sudden onslaught of choppas
of power lurched away from the and iron-bound clubs obliterating Those knights who battled
Incarnates’ forces. the skaven who had arrived only northwards found fresh respite in
moments before. As the survivors of the arrival of Balthasar Gelt and
With Caradryan’s death, the power the Host of Shadow advanced more Alarielle. Quicksilver had borne the
of Aqshy began to leave those elves cautiously behind, the Waaagh!-cry two Incarnates through the winding
who had fought at his side. Fires went up again, and the orcs thundered northern streets, always choosing
faded from their blades, and fury into the welcome fury of battle. evasion over needless conflict.

Chapter 4 | 219
 Both felt the burden of allies slain right hoof high, to stomp the life from for strength, but the Mortis Blade was
or abandoned, and had silently Tyrion as he had his fellow Incarnate. not his only weapon. Nine tomes of
pledged that the sacrifices made by flesh-bound lore performed swirling
Hammerson, Durthu and Vlad would At that moment, a sudden gale orbits around the Great Necromancer
not be in vain. Now the pegasus bore sprang up across the Ulricsmund. as he fought, their pages fluttering
his burdens to safer ground. Golden It blew from the south, out of the and sparking with amethyst energy as
light flared, transmuting Skaramor charnel streets of the Merchant Nagash drew upon their power.
into lifeless statues, and then Gelt and District, and howled up along the
Alarielle were amongst the lances and great excavation’s western flank.
shields of the Reiksguard. With it came a swirling dark cloud,
roiling and pulsing with dread energy.
Though he would never have Where the cloud passed, combatants
admitted it, Tyrion was overmatched. fell lifeless; their skin desiccated
Ka’Bandha seemed impervious to pain and cracked, their weapons and
and fatigue, had battled on though armour crumbled to dust. It made no
his flesh was charred and cracked distinction between the battling sides
from Aqshy’s flame. The Bloodthirster – orcs and elves perished beneath
fought with both hammer-flail and its embrace as surely as did ratmen
axe now, the weapons whirling with or northlanders. As the cloud grew
berserk energy. close to Ka’Bandha, it burst apart, the
scattering tendrils of vapour revealing
Tyrion leaned low in his saddle. The a robed figure as grim as death itself.
axe-blade ripped through the air With a dark gleam, Zefet-nebtar, the
above, splitting a granite pillar in two Mortis Blade, swept out.
and toppling a defaced statue of Ulric.
The falling stone would have crushed Tyrion forgotten, the Bloodthirster
the elf, had not Malhandir spurred threw himself at his new foe. His
forward at that moment, galloping hammer came up to block the Mortis
around Ka’Bandha’s legs. As a giant, Blade’s strike, sparks flying as At last, Ka’Bandha had met a foe that
flaming wing passed overhead, Tyrion daemon weapon and cursed blade was his equal. However, this was
rose up in the stirrups once more and vied for supremacy. Neither Nagash only to the Bloodthirster’s liking, for
hacked at the leathery membrane. nor Ka’Bandha found victory in he deemed Nagash’s skull to be the
Malhandir’s momentum, wedded to that first clash, and the weapons greatest prize upon the Ulricsmund.
Sunfang’s flawless edge, tore not only ripped apart to the sound of the He ignored the chill wind that tore
through the wing’s membrane, but Bloodthirster’s renewed bellow and at his flesh, at last extinguishing
also through three of its bony vanes. the liche’s death-rattle. Caradryan’s flames, and battered at
the liche with every dreg of strength
At last, Tyrion provoked a roar of Nagash had not sought to save he possessed. His hammer-flail
pain. The Bloodthirster span back Tyrion’s life. Indeed, the Great whirled and struck in a punishing
to face him. Ka’Bandha’s axe hissed Necromancer hadn’t even marked his rhythm, driving shards of warpstone
down again, aimed to split the prince presence at Ka’Bandha’s feet; both the from the Great Necromancer’s cursed
in two. Sunfang rose to meet it, the prince and his faithful steed would blade, but coming away scarred in
blade blazing with Tyrion’s light. have perished if he hadn’t recovered return. The barbed chain lashed
There was an ear-splitting screech the presence of mind to cast a shield out to shatter Nagash’s bones, but
and a flash of light as the two against Nagash’s arrival. Rather, the the liche only laughed as flaring
weapons met, but Sunfang proved Supreme Lord of the Undead loathed amethyst magic crept along his limbs
the superior blade. A vast shard of stooping to physical combat, and had and restored his broken body. Yet
Ka’Bandha’s axe-head sheared away determined to make an example of the neither Ka’Bandha’s fury nor Nagash’s
to clang into the rubble, but such was mightiest foe upon the field now that sorceries could break the deadlock –
the force of the blow that Tyrion was he had been forced to sully himself. the foes were too well-matched.
knocked backwards out of his saddle,
and fell winded to the ground. Unnoticed, Malhandir bore an However, in fighting Nagash,
exhausted Tyrion away as the two Ka’Bandha had quite forgotten the
Casting his ruined axe down, demigods traded blows that would hunt that had brought him to the
Ka’Bandha stepped forward with have cracked a mountain. Nagash Ulricsmund in the first place. He had
a bellow of triumph and raised his matched the Bloodthirster strength forgotten the Emperor.

220 | Chapter 4
T he Emperor awoke in darkness. His face was sticky
with half-clotted blood, and his body was numb.
The air was heavy, and the unmistakable smell of a
didn’t relish facing Ka’Bandha’s hounds without it.
With no other option, he pressed on through the
forest of chains. Behind him, the howling grew louder,
slaughterhouse was thick in his nostrils. accompanied by the crunch of boots on stone.
Dragging himself to his feet, he peered into the Moving quickly, propelled by an instinct he couldn’t
darkness. Ahead of him, a pool of blood bubbled and quite identify, the Emperor skirted the blood pool, and
spat; all around, corpses hung from the ceiling on heavy stared at the throne. Scraps of sinew and fat still clung
chains. And at the back of the chamber, at the very limit to the bones, but he scarcely noticed, for his attention
of the Emperor’s vision, loomed a throne of skulls and was drawn to a gleam of bronze atop the abhorrent
flayed skin. structure. No cleansing flame, no morning sunlight had
A howl sounded behind the Emperor. It was quickly ever seemed so beautiful as that sight.
joined by others, and by the scramble of paws and hands Behind the Emperor, the howls reached a fever pitch as
on rubble. The Emperor’s hand flew to his scabbard – the first of the hounds caught his scent. It didn’t matter.
then he remembered that the runefang was gone. It had Not now.
been flung from his hand when he’d been thrown from ‘Hello, old friend,’ he whispered, and reached out a
Deathclaw’s back. It could be anywhere now, and he trembling hand.

Lightning flared across the sky. This the Emperor of his Incarnatehood at their recent days, and they fell about
was not the blood-red lightning of Averheim. However, the Everchosen their foes with a fury that knew no
recent days, but an angry shaft of had not – could not – truly abeyance. The remaining Incarnates
heavenly light. It struck the Temple comprehend the nature of his foe. To looked towards the Temple of Ulric,
of Ulric’s ravaged dome, and sparked Archaon, Sigmar was a myth, a lie, and recognised the truth of the
across its battered roof. Thunder but Archaon had deceived himself, Emperor’s return. Only the orcs
pealed, crisp and clear, and the had read only what he wished to see missed the significance of what had
lightning came again. With the second in the prophecies of Necrodomo the just occurred. They continued about
bolt, the front of the temple exploded, Insane. Now, with Sigmar and his their bloody work, neither awed nor
chunks of brick and stonework fabled weapon reunited, the power of dismayed by the fury in the skies.
flung outwards by the blast. Bodies the heavens was his once again, and
of Skaramor and feralkin came hope was reborn.
too, cast from the temple’s depths
by a sudden rebirth of power, and All upon the Ulricsmund felt the
Deathclaw’s wounded body was lost sudden shift in fortunes. Feralkin
to sight. Ka’Bandha and Nagash both howled in sudden terror, and skaven
shrank away from the light, the Great screeched in dismay. The knights
Necromancer recalling unbidden the of the Empire, who had fought at
memory of a long-ago humiliation at Sigmar’s side for many months, never
the gates of Altdorf. knowing the truth until now, felt
all tiredness fall from their bones.
Tyrion saw the light, and with it Sudden joy bubbled up through the
the revelation of a truth that he had fear and hatred that had dominated
known since his return from the
dead. Karl Franz had not been reborn
during the fall of Altdorf. His body
had been restored, true enough.
However, the will that drove it was not
his, but that of Sigmar Heldenhammer,
whose spirit who had been trapped
within the Wind of Heavens for
more than two thousand years. Yet
without his fabled hammer – without
Ghal Maraz – the first Emperor had
not been reborn whole, not at first.
Archaon had unknowingly exploited
this weakness when he had stripped
E ven buried deep in the Fauschlag, Teclis heard the distant sounds
of battle far above. In the centre of the cavern, the warp-artefact
shone ominously, myriad colours rippling like fire across its oily surface.
Sorcerers clustered around it, uttering harsh syllables as they coaxed the
ancient doom to life. Even Teclis, learned as he was, recognised few of
the incantations being uttered. Instinctively, the mage knew that he was
hearing sounds not uttered since the time of the Old Ones.
For the hundredth time, the mage tested his chains, and for the
hundredth time it proved a wasted effort. The links went taught against
their mooring in the rock wall, and cold iron chafed against wrists that
were already raw from previous attempts, but there was nothing more to
show for the effort. It was all the more frustrating because Teclis could
feel the magic billowing through the cave. It had been drawn forth by the
thousands of blood sacrifices whose stench lay thick upon the air, and
whose corpses lay strewn about the cavern’s perimeter. Yet the baleful
runes set in the heavy manacles prevented Teclis from siphoning even a
fraction of that power – and without it, he was helpless.
But then, Teclis doubted he could have achieved much even if he had
broken free. The chamber was ringed by Archaon’s silent warriors, and
the Everchosen himself only tore his attention away from the glistening
artefact to satisfy himself that his captive made no mischief. Archaon
should have killed him, Teclis knew. However, the Everchosen’s pride
clearly demanded an audience for his last terrible act – even if it was an
audience of one.
All of a sudden, Teclis’ keen ears picked up the faint sound of lightning.
The chamber shuddered, dislodging several stalactites from the
ceiling. Gold gleamed through the fresh cracks in the cavern roof, and
Teclis wondered at the Fauschlag’s true nature – not that it mattered
greatly now. The calcified spikes crashed down into the triple-ringed
ritual circle, crushing several of the chanting sorcerers. Others fled their
labours, only to return at Archaon’s sonorous command – clearly they
feared the Everchosen more than the caprices of falling rock.
‘Sigmar is coming,’ Teclis said. He had spoken softly, but the some
trick of acoustics carried his words clearly across the chamber.
Archaon rounded on the mage. ‘Are you so desperate for salvation
that you place your hope in a myth?’ he demanded. ‘I thought elves more
rational than that.’
Teclis shook his head. ‘I am too rational to doubt the evidence of my
own experience.’
‘You are blinded by lies,’ the Everchosen snarled.
‘One of us is, certainly,’ Teclis rejoined, unflinchingly meeting the
Everchosen’s hollow gaze. For a moment, he thought that Archaon
would cut him down, trading the loss of a witness for silence. Then the
Everchosen laughed, a sound somehow darker than his snarl.
The chamber shuddered again, but this time lightning high above was
not the cause. Behind Archaon, the warp-artefact pulsed suddenly, its
gleaming mass doubling in size. The nearest sorcerers were sucked into
its depths, not even given time to scream. Pain-wracked faces bulged
against the oily surface from within, and the whorls of colour broke apart
into ever more dizzying patterns. The cavern floor cracked and fissured,
baleful light gleaming up through the jagged wounds in the rock. The
stench of blood was overwhelmed by the bitter stink of brimstone, and a
sweet, sickly smell that Teclis could not identify, and did not wish to.
Archaon laughed again as the artefact pulsed anew, its circumference
redoubling. ‘The dying moments of the world are upon us. A false god
cannot save you now.’
On the summit of the Ulricsmund, pinning the Bloodthirster down As the uproar of battle faded into the
lightning struck the temple for a third whilst the Emperor readied another surrounding streets, the Incarnates
time, then seared outwards through blow. This second strike was even gathered their forces before the great
the shattered facade. Except this mightier than the first, the hammer’s excavation’s entrance. The barrier
time, Deathclaw was at its head. The head trailing lightning as it crashed of warpflame was still in place, the
griffon was bloodied – one wing was home. Ka’Bandha’s skull shattered chanting of daemons and sorcerers
still broken and lifeless from where with a sharp crack, speckling the beyond having only redoubled in the
Ka’Bandha’s hammer had struck him Emperor and Deathclaw with shards wake of Ka’Bandha’s defeat.
from the sky – but the fury in his of ichor-stained bone. The daemon
voice was terrible to hear. Sigmar rode convulsed once, and did not rise. His
atop the griffon’s shoulders, Ghal physical form was at last slain, and
Maraz gleaming with brilliant light in his monstrous spirit flung back into
his hand. the Realm of Chaos.

Deathclaw surged forward, propelled This marked the turning point in

across the rubble by powerful claws. the battle of the Ulricsmund. With Summoning the full force of their
Lightning burst from Ghal Maraz’s Ka’Bandha slain, the bloodthirsty power, the Incarnates smote that
head. It struck Ka’Bandha square spirit that had guided his hounds barrier with the majestic spectrum
in the chest, melting his armour, faded away to nothing. Feralkin of magic – or almost so. With
and flinging him backwards. The howled and fled, or else cowered, Caradryan’s death, the power of
Bloodthirster bellowed, his hooves waiting for the inevitable deathblow. Aqshy had been lost, but its absence
scoring twin tracks through the Skaven and Kurgan retreated in was not sorely felt. Assailed by the
rubble as he sought to steady himself. droves, seeking shelter in the ruins dual onslaughts of light and shadow,
Then he roared, and went to meet beyond the Ulricsmund. Some of life and death – hammered by
the Emperor’s charge. Nagash made Skaramor fought on. However, the skyborne lightning, and transmutative
no move to stop him – the Great Beast-Waaagh!’s brutish warriors golden rays – the magics of the
Necromancer had no desire to make were drawn to their bloody banners barrier began to shift and crack. Only
Sigmar’s existence any easier than like flies to dung, and one by one, the Grimgor made no attempt to unleash
strictly necessary. skull-totems fell, their bearers slain his latent arcane potential, for the orc
or fled. As the Incarnates rallied what still understood little of the fate that
Ka’Bandha and Deathclaw struck each forces remained to them, greenskins had overtaken him. Instead, he hefted
other mid-leap. The Bloodthirster’s and ogres pursued their beaten foes his axe once, bellowed a wordless
hammer went wide, but the Emperor’s deeper into the city. Only Grimgor challenge at the pulsating warpflame
did not. It had been dubbed ‘Skull and his Immortulz remained. The and struck the barrier with all of his
Splitter’ by its forger, and once again warboss was bound by his desire to considerable might.
it proved the aptness of that name. best the Everchosen who waited at the
The rune-inscribed head struck excavation’s heart, his bodyguard by As Gitsnik sliced home, the magics
Ka’Bandha’s crown with a hollow their ironclad loyalty to their master’s of the barrier collapsed. The flames
chime, cracking the metal. will. Malekith spoke for Grimgor, his broke inward as drops of blazing,
tone somehow managing to tread many-hued liquid, the backwash
With a roar, Ka’Bandha fell a line between respect for his new snatching the barrier’s creators into
backwards, slamming into the ‘leader’ and deadly challenge to any ashen oblivion. Grimgor bellowed
rubble of the Ulricsmund, the who sought to mock his status. Thus, in triumph. As if in answer, the
impact throwing up a cloud of the strange alliance that had begun in Fauschlag gave a sudden lurching
dust. Deathclaw was upon him in the Wynd was now extended to all of shudder. The way was open, but was
a heartbeat, the griffon’s weight the Incarnates. it too late?
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 No enemies assailed the Incarnates slaves and guards alike, the bones As the Incarnates fought their way
and their surviving army of orcs, elves often picked clean of flesh and pock- deeper, so too did the ferocity of the
and men as they journeyed into the marked as if by acid. The Incarnates resistance increase. They reached
Fauschlag’s torch-lit depths. Many bypassed these passageways, where calcified catacombs where the skaven
times they heard the skittering of the layout of the tunnels allowed, had possessed the time to prepare
skaven claws, but always in branching and used magic to scour away the proper defences, to conceal war
passages, and scurrying away. The infestation where there was no other engines amidst the grottoes and
Incarnates and their allies travelled route to take. galleries. Increasingly, the Incarnates
as swiftly as they could, mindful that were forced to coordinate their efforts.
the tremors in the rock boded ill. Escape from the cramped confines All save Nagash, who stood alone,
None could say for certain how far of the upper passageways presented even then, and Grimgor who charged
progressed Archaon’s ritual was. All its own dangers, however – Archaon on heedless through every volley of
were certain that it had begun, if for had not been so foolish as to leave bullets and warp lightning. It was not
no other reason than the Everqueen his rituals entirely undefended. enough – none of it was enough. No
appeared increasingly wan as time Thus, as the Incarnates breached the matter how Tyrion strove to shield his
passed. As the Weave suffered, so did Fauschlag’s hidden caverns, the first allies, or Alarielle laboured to mend
she. Nevertheless, Alarielle refused attacks began. their wounds, there were too many
all aid, and insisted on making the spears, too many bullets and too
journey on her own two feet. The early attackers were skaven, well- many desperate ratmen.
used to fighting in dank, subterranean
Even without foes to harry them, spaces. They came as great chittering Time was the enemy now as much
the descent was far from easy. The swarms of mangy fur and snapping as the skaven. Through it all, the
excavation cut through flag-stoned teeth, desperate to overwhelm the Fauschlag continued to shake as
tunnels, and long abandoned sewers, Incarnates. The chieftains and grey Archaon’s world-breaking ritual
and had been hewn out of a desire for seers who led these assaults had no accelerated towards completion.
haste, not ease of use. The topmost illusions as to the consequences of Millennia-old rock formations cracked
tunnels had been dug to allow toiling failure. If Archaon did not have them apart and rained down, crushing
slaves into the lower depths, not put to death, then the Great Horned struggling warriors on both sides.
to admit beasts of Seraphon and Rat – or one of his Verminlords Chasms split open beneath the
Deathclaw’s size, and there was many – surely would. Thus the ratmen combatants’ feet, spilling them into
a scrape on flesh or scale. Nagash, warlords defended each cave and the as-yet uncharted depths beneath
of course, had no such problem. tunnel to the last drop of their the mountain. Fearing that the chance
The Great Necromancer traversed minions’ blood, sometimes even to halt Archaon’s plan would soon be
the tunnels as the same oppressive going so far as to join the fighting in lost, the Emperor drove his allies as
death-cloud he been on arrival at person, if absolutely no other option hard as he dared. The injured were
the Ulricsmund, forcing his allies to presented itself. abandoned alongside the dead, and
advance either well ahead or well the shrinking Incarnate host pushed
behind him. Only when the Incarnates The Incarnates fought back with all into the Fauschlag’s grim heart.
reached the cavernous lower levels their fury, knowing that the time for
could the dragon and griffon move restraint was long passed. Better Behind the Incarnates came another
relatively unhindered. by far to reach the ritual chamber intruder, concealed as much by the
with the merest dregs of power desperation of those who might have
The last traces of man-made environs remaining than not to reach it at all. observed him as the sorceries with
eventually gave way, replaced by The Emperor, Tyrion and Grimgor led which he cloaked himself. Mannfred
the cold bedrock of the mountain. the way in these battles, hacking and von Carstein had reluctantly taken
Here, the skaven had made use of bludgeoning their way through the Vlad’s last advice – he had finally
the Fauschlag’s natural caverns, and teeming ranks, and clearing a path for chosen a side.
the route became less direct. But others to follow. It was brutal work.
always, the trail of dead, emaciated Hundreds upon hundreds of skaven Shackled to the wall of the ritual
slaves pointed the way deeper into died in those tunnels, cut down by chamber, Teclis heard the sounds of
the mountain. Here too were the first desperate Imperial steel, transmuted battle in the caves above, and hoped
signs of otherworldly infestation. In into glittering dust, or blasted apart beyond hope that there was still a
many places, the dark rock of the by lightning’s strike. Many twitched chance of victory. The warp-artefact
tunnels gave way to pulsing expanses to life again moments after, revived by had swollen to many times its original
of daemonic flesh. Skaven and human the Supreme Lord of the Undead to do size, and its baleful presence was
bodies lay clustered in such places, battle in his name. tearing the chamber apart. Shards

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of stone fell constantly from the Archaon was also aware of the
roof, and a deep, buzzing drone Incarnates’ approach. Indeed, such
reverberated from the rock walls. It was the clamour echoing down from
was a penetrating sound, heard as the upper caverns that he would have
much in the mind as by the ear, and it had to be entirely deaf in order to have
made the mage’s teeth rattle and his remained ignorant. The Everchosen’s
eyes bleed. disappointment at his minions’ failure
was tempered by anticipation of the
Scores of the Everchosen’s sorcerers battle to come. Above all things,
were dead already. Some had been Archaon was a warrior. The ritual
sucked screaming into the expanding would grant the Chaos Gods the
sphere, others had collapsed to their victory they demanded, but it was a
knees with blood streaming from somehow unseemly way to mark the
their eyes and ears. Still more had end of all that was. It was therefore
perished on the Swords of Chaos’ with some satisfaction that he ordered
blades, cut down during their attempt his Swords of Chaos to form a line of
to flee the doom they had wrought. battle at the ritual chamber’s entrance.
Archaon himself had slaughtered
the most recent of them, tearing the As the Swords of Chaos took their
wretch’s heart out through his ribcage places beneath their grim banners,
and crushing it before the light had the inky black surface of the warp-
faded from his dying eyes. After that artefact parted and a great host of
example had been set, no other had daemons marched into the cavern.
attempted to abandon the ritual. They came striding, capering,
shambling, and dancing – the minions
The artefact pulsed and expanded of all four Chaos Gods united in a
once again. Teclis blinked back tears single cause. The glistening blackness
of blood as the pressure in his mind of the artefact’s skin dripped from
increased yet further. The mage could the daemons’ limbs like oil as they
hear daemonic whispers in his mind, passed into the chamber, mouths and
their voices like claws scratching at tentacles forming in the fluid as it
his sanity. He had heard such things pooled about their feet.
before, but never so strong, and never
without the means to defend himself. Archaon did not want these
It took all of the mage’s remaining reinforcements. He interpreted their
willpower to stop himself slipping presence as chastisement from
forever into madness. gods who did not believe that he
could otherwise see their mission
The end was mere minutes away, completed. Yet the Everchosen could
Teclis was certain of that. The sphere hardly refuse the aid, and would
could not grow much further without have likely been ignored had he tried.
imploding. When it collapsed, the Besides, the daemons could serve as a
Fauschlag would be drawn into the distraction, allowing his own chosen
Realm of Chaos, and the rest of the warriors the chance to prove the
world would be torn apart. It was weakness of the civilised lands.
unfair to have sacrificed so much
for survival, and yet teeter on the As the sounds of battle drew ever
edge of the abyss. For a moment, closer, Archaon spurred Dorghar into
Teclis lost himself in despair. Then the Swords of Chaos’ silent ranks, and
he realised that the voice whispering drew the Slayer of Kings. So many
in his thoughts was not his own, but battles had led him to this point, so
a daemon’s sibilant whisper. Blotting many victories. One more triumph,
the creature out, the mage fixed his and then his burden was done. The
thoughts on the sounds of battle end would be heralded not by the
above, and the salvation it promised. frantic whispers of sorcerers, but by
The end could yet be averted. one final, glorious battle!
 THE INCARNATE HOST
This was the army upon which hung the world’s fate. It was a strange assemblage, thick with former enemies
driven by the common goal of survival. In times past they had spilled one another’s blood, and would surely do
so again if the world survived its coming doom. For now, however, they were allies.

THE EMPEROR, INCARNATE OF HEAVENS

None entered the bowels of Middenheim more driven than Sigmar. After
Tzeentch had trapped him in the Wind of Heavens, he had abided in the Great
Vortex for thousands of years, unable to lend aid to the Empire he had founded,
or to take up Ghal Maraz to defend those who had worshipped him as a god.
That failure, though not truly of his making, hung heavily upon Sigmar’s
shoulders, and fuelled his determination that his second confrontation with
Archaon would end differently to the first.

GRIMGOR IRONHIDE
Grimgor was not entirely foolish. He knew that Malekith had sought
to manipulate him into joining the battle against Chaos – he just
didn’t care. The warboss lived to prove his prowess in battle, and
had shrewdly realised that none of the elves or humans who had
reluctantly embraced him as an ally would serve as a meaningful
challenge. If the opposite had been true, then why would they have
sought his aid in the first place? No, for Grimgor the challenge lay in
defeating the emissary of the Dark Gods, thus proving that he was
truly the strongest.

DA IMMORTULZ
The Immortulz had fought at Grimgor’s side since the warboss
first marched out of the east. Since then, they had brought ruin
to dwarf holds, skaven lairs and innumerable human settlements
along the Worlds Edge Mountains. Like their leader, they cared
little for wealth and territory. Instead, they sought only the joy of
battle. Middenheim was therefore paradise, filled as it was with
the very best warriors that the northlands had to offer. Unlike
Grimgor, most of the Immortulz saw little reason to ally with the
weakling elves and men, but were nonetheless content to let their
boss do the thinking.

THE REVENANTS OF KHAINE

For centuries, the Revenants of Khaine had guarded the Blighted
Isle from Malekith, whom they believed to be evil personified.
In recent years, their surety had been sorely tested, and they
had learnt first-hand that the former Witch King was but one
evil amongst many. Now they fought at Malekith’s side against
a greater threat – proof enough, said some, that the world was
coming to an end.

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 The Emperor,
Incarnate of Heavens

Malekith,
the Eternity King

Grimgor Ironhide,
Incarnate of Beasts

Alarielle,
Incarnate of Life

Tyrion,
Incarnate of Light

THE REIKSGUARD Balthasar Gelt,

The last survivors of the army that the Emperor had led from the ruin of Incarnate of Metal
Averheim, the Reiksguard felt the coming battle’s burden no less greatly than
their commander. In truth, few truly understood the full, horrible depths of the
stakes at play. Most knew only that they had been given one last chance to Nagash,
Supreme Lord of the Undead
repay the Everchosen for the destruction of their homeland, and the slaughter
of their families. Before entering the caverns, every last knight had sworn a
blood oath that they would fight to the last, no matter what horrors awaited Teclis
them beneath the Fauschlag.

The Reiksguard
One brotherhood of
Reiksguard Knights

Da Immortulz
Three regiments of Black Orcs

The Revenants of Khaine

One regiment of High Elf Spearmen

The Shadows of Naggaroth

One regiment of Darkshards

The Knights of Alabast

One regiment of Silver Helms

The Spears of Talagand

One regiment of High Elf Spearmen

THE KNIGHTS OF ALABAST The Winterborn

Too many of Lothern’s elves had fought at Tyrion’s side during his descent into One kinband of Sisters of the Thorn
madness. Khaine cast a long shadow over the prince even now, but the Knights
of Alabast were determined to fight at his side – as much to clear the stain upon The Fauschlag Dead
their homeland’s honour as anything else. Even with the world on the brink of One vast horde of Zombies
destruction, asur pride demanded that past sins be expunged. Thus had their
skycutters fought in Middenheim’s streets, and thus did the surviving knights
now ride at his side in the depths of the Fauschlag.

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 THE EVERCHOSEN’S HORDE
At Archaon’s back in that final battle stood the greatest of his mortal warriors. Accompanying them, their
presence neither sought for nor desired, were great swathes of daemons. Yet however unhappy this alliance
might be, it made for a formidable horde, one with the power to bring the world to a final, crashing end.

ARCHAON EVERCHOSEN, THE THREE-EYED KING,

LORD OF THE END TIMES
With victory and defeat both seemingly a mere coin’s toss away, Archaon had
taken care to keep his finest warriors close. To a degree, the Everchosen did
not care if the Dark Gods’ plans came to fruition or not. He was also not yet
prepared to believe Teclis’ assertion that the Incarnate host was led by Sigmar,
but it changed nothing – Archaon’s monstrous pride demanded that this final
challenge to his supremacy be crushed. The Empire had been destroyed, and
his soul was damned, regardless of what now came to pass. All that remained
was blood and death.

KARAVOX TCHZEN OF THE SILVER CLAW

A Bloodthirster of Insensate Rage, and one who hungrily One of two greater daemons in command of the
sought to claim Ka’Bandha’s title as huntsmaster, Karavox Tzeentchian daemon host, Tchzen was more given to
came willingly to the Fauschlag’s depths. Like all the physical confrontation than his brother Lords of Change.
Greater Daemons summoned to that place, he had little What magics he wielded, he did so to enhance his prowess
faith in a mortal’s ability to achieve Khorne’s glorious goal. in battle – as more than one Great Unclean One had
Karavox relished the chance for battle in the mortal world, discovered to their cost during the interminable battles
but was less pleased to discover that his master expected along the fringes of the Crystal Labyrinth. Tchzen savoured
him to fight alongside the pleasure-addled minions of the each victory, often taking a small bone token from the
Dark Prince. vanquished as proof of his triumph. Indeed, the Vault of
Bone Chimes in the heart of the Impossible Fortress was
said to have been constructed purely of such trophies.

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 Archaon Everchosen

Karavox
Bloodthirster of Insensate Rage

Tchzen of the Silver Claw

Lord of Change

Bolragoth the Festant

Great Unclean One

Sslivox the Serpent

Keeper of Secrets

The Swords of Chaos

Two dark brotherhoods
of Chaos Knights,
BOLRAGOTH THE FESTANT three regiments of Chaos Warriors,
Bolragoth’s fellow Great Unclean Ones considered him a strategic genius, a one regiment of Chosen
corpulent visionary who could lead any census legion to victory against any
foe. Thus was he Nurgle’s first choice for an emissary in the battle to end all The Forgecloven
things. This honour was little to Bolragoth’s liking, as he had used the tumult of Two Heralds of Khorne,
three packs of Bloodletters,
the End Times to indulge his true passion – the promulgation of a particularly
one pack of Flesh Hounds,
virulent strain of Yellow Flux – on what remained of the ogres of the eastern one regiment of Bloodcrushers and
mountains. Nevertheless, Bolragoth knew better than to argue with his master’s one Skull Cannon
will, and prepared to do battle, though he dreamed wistfully of blossoming
pustules and frothing bowels the entire time. The Whimsicorus
One Lord of Change,
one Herald of Tzeentch,
SSLIVOX THE SERPENT two covens of Pink Horrors,
one flock of Screamers,
Though he took pains to conceal two packs of Flamers
it from his dark brothers, Slaanesh
was not altogether convinced at the The Blightborn Legion
wisdom of unmaking the world. He One Great Unclean One,
had dined well on its many pleasures one Herald of Nurgle,
– not least the surfeit of elven souls three tallybands of Plaguebearers,
that had reached his table during one squabble of Nurglings and
three tallybands of Plague Drones
Ulthuan’s demise – and feared that
such joys would be lost if the mortal
The Carnival of Caprice
realm ceased to be. Thus the Dark Two Heralds of Slaanesh,
Prince sent what he considered his three courts of Daemonettes,
most inept servant to command three courts of Seekers,
his contribution to the battle in the one pack of Fiends and one Hellflayer
Fauschlag. Sslivox was not stupid –
not exactly – but his wits had long
ago been addled by the pleasures of
Slaanesh’s palace.

THE SWORDS OF CHAOS

The Swords of Chaos had been ravaged during the final moments
of Averheim’s fall, but they were still an army fit to match the best
that the Incarnates could throw at them. Whether driven by loyalty,
personal ambition or merely the joy of battle, all felt the gaze of the
Dark Gods upon them.

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CHAPTER 5
Lord of the End Times
Autumn 2528
 THE END OF ALL THINGS
Thus began the battle for the fate of even the most basic of strategies. If The daemons did not wait for
the world. there had been a time for subtlety or Archaon’s order to attack, but
cleverness, it had passed long ago. immediately charged across the
The Incarnates came to the ritual Now there was only blood, steel and chasm-wracked floor to meet
chamber weary and bloodied, their sorcery, and the will to fight. Grimgor’s onslaught. Bloodletters
power spent on constant battle, their bounded forward, hissing and
followers all but wiped out. Against Grimgor and the remnants of his chanting Khorne’s praises. Horrors
them, Archaon had the collected Immortulz were the first to reach the hurled their torrents of writhing
Swords of Chaos as his army’s grim fight. Of all those who had entered the magic, squealing with joy as the
centre, supported on the flanks by tunnels, only the black orcs showed flames consumed enemy and ally
daemons of the four Dark Gods. The no signs of weariness. Rather, they alike. Plaguebearers shambled close
Everchosen’s forces were rested, had grown stronger with each battle, behind, their legendary hatred of the
unharmed and prepared to die in their the wild power of Ghur combining Tzeentchian daemons suppressed
dark masters’ service, for they knew with their peculiar greenskin heritage for the moment by their common
no other way. to forge a force against which no cause. And at the rear, dancing and
enemy had yet been able to stand. laughing, were Slaanesh’s daemonette
Even with the Emperor restored to his Behind the orcs came the Emperor handmaidens. Greater daemons of
full power, no gambler would have and his few surviving knights, and the four powers loomed over the
chanced a coin on the Incarnates’ behind them, Gelt and the elven unholy host, driving them on with
chances of success. Yet still they Incarnates. Nagash entered the lash and bellowed orders, though no
came, the fate of the world heavy chamber last of all, his presence an such encouragement was needed. The
upon their shoulders, and giving voice ominous blackness that rivalled that fickle honour of the Dark Gods was at
to battle cries from many realms. of the pulsating and glistening sphere stake, and no daemon would dare be
There was no chance for rest, or at the cavern’s centre. the cause of their master’s shame.

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Archaon held the Swords of Chaos had started, Grimgor’s armoured so very long before, they had fought
back as the daemons surged forward. foot pushed off a fallen stalactite, against the prince in the bitterest of
The Everchosen disdained the idea propelling the warboss up and over conflicts, but those days were long
of allowing the daemons to win this, the serrated pincers. Just before behind. Tyrion was once again a hero
his ultimate battle, but he knew the gravity reclaimed its hold upon him, to outshine all others, and the light
pragmatism of letting them test his the warboss raised Gitsnik high in a of Hysh brought hope in that very
foes’ strength. He had encountered double-handed grip, and brought the darkest of hours.
few of the Incarnates before their heavy blade razoring down to shatter
ascension, and only the Emperor Sslivox’s skull. Grimgor fell into his Malekith’s already sparse followers
since. The same pride that led the victim’s body, the daemon’s flesh suffered greatly in those opening
Everchosen to embrace this final pulping as it cushioned the black orc’s moments. Their course led them
battle so completely also drove him impact with the rocky floor. Rolling towards the massed Tzeentchian
to caution. He would not countenance free, Grimgor bellowed a cry of daemons, and into the path of a
defeat in this, of all arenas. victory. As the Immortulz took up the scalding salvo of sorcery. Elves
cry, the warboss charged on towards fell screaming to the ground, flesh
The daemonettes quickly outpaced his next foe. warping and minds collapsing under
their fellow daemons. They danced the change-bringing barrage. Unreal
lithely around the broken stalagmites firestorms spiralled deep into the
and across chasms, their motions charging ranks, leaving cinders and
blurring and strobing in the cavern’s bubbling fluid in their wake.
strange half-light. Slaanesh’s
handmaidens were grace personified, However, the fires of Tzeentch soon
as opposite to the lumbering orcs as it proved to be the daemons’ undoing.
was possible to be. With a final lilt of As the horrors’ sorceries and the
seductive laughter, the daemonettes gouts of daemon-fire crackled across
leapt and pirouetted into the the chamber, myriad shadows
Immortulz, and the slaughter began. scattered along the walls and floor –
pathways that Malekith could utilise.
That first clash was also the most Grimgor likely believed he could The Eternity King’s followers faded
one-sided of those that would unfold win that battle all by himself, but it away as the shadows overtook them,
in the cavern that night. The orcs was just as well that he had allies, only to burst forth unharmed from
were clumsy and lumpen compared all the same. Even as the daemon another fleeting patch of fire-spawned
to the daemonettes, unable to defend host shifted to envelop the roaring darkness to carry their blades deep
themselves against their swift strikes. greenskins, the Emperor struck, into the daemons’ ranks.
However, it took two or three blows a crackling torrent of lightning a
from a daemonette’s claw to slay herald to his coming. Bloodletters With the advantage of the sorcery
one of Grimgor’s black orcs, but only and horrors were flung aside, their neutralised by a foe that could
one bone-crunching impact from a bodies scorched and broken by the seemingly disappear and reappear
choppa to hack one of the slender heavenly bolt. Then Sigmar himself at will, the horrors soon found the
daemons in half. Shrieking laughter was amongst the foe, Ghal Maraz battle turning against them. Daemons
turned to wailing screams as the seemingly weightless in his hands perished as halberds chopped down
daemonettes’ vanguard disintegrated as it whirled and swung, hurling through their vivid flesh. Blue horrors
in a mass of ichor. pulverised bodies left and right. The were called into being with every
last of the Reiksguard came with demise, but seldom managed more
The Keeper of Secrets, Sslivox the him, their fervent charge careless of than a surly growl before perishing
Serpent, strutted into Grimgor’s the uneven ground, their lances and beneath the same blades that had
path, its scented blade flashing swords driven into daemonic flesh by felled their reluctant ‘parents’, or
like quicksilver as it swung at the zealous determination. were punted into gaping chasms by
black orc. Grimgor stumbled on a armoured boots.
daemonette’s corpse, and the sword- Tyrion and Malekith came next,
stroke went wide. The daemon-blade breaking to the Emperor’s left and Malekith alone did not advance
shattered Grimgor’s left pauldron right. Tyrion wielded his light as a through the shadows. Disdaining
and hacked deep into his shoulder, weapon, and bloodletters recoiled the fire that crackled around him, he
but the one-eyed warboss didn’t so before it. Silver helms and dragon swooped to confront a pair of Lords of
much as slow. As Sslivox’s claws princes shouted their ancient battle Change whose shrill orders held sway
lunged forward to finish what its blade cries and charged in behind him. Not over the Tzeentchian host.

Chapter 5 | 239
 The survivors of Caradryan’s host moaning pitifully as he snuffed out Whatever hope Teclis had drawn
marched in behind the Incarnates of their essence to further empower his from his allies’ arrival was dashed by
Light and Shadow, Alarielle and Gelt sorceries. Lurid amethyst fires blazed the sudden fracturing of the sphere.
at their head. So unbalanced had the from Nagash’s eyes and outstretched For Archaon, however, the hastening
Weave become that Alarielle barely fingers, boiling the flesh from of doom spurred him to at last hurl
had the strength to stand, let alone plaguebearers’ bones, and blasting the Swords of Chaos into battle. The
fight. She staggered each time a the remains to drifting ash. Everchosen gave no order – likely,
tremor shook the chamber, her spirit none would have been heard over
assailed by forces that no other in At the chamber’s heart, the artefact the fury of battle anyway – he simply
that cavern could truly comprehend. pulsed again, its circumference raised a single, clenched fist. At once,
Yet still the Everqueen advanced, the expanding to nearly four times the Swords of Chaos went forward at
white lions’ surviving pridemates Nagash’s height. As it did so, jagged a run, their banners and shields high.
clustered close around her. The lesions appeared on its outer skin.
elves’ heavy axes hacked down the They spread across the oily surface Archaon rode before his knights,
bloodletters that pounced to claim like stress fractures in a pane of leading the headlong charge. The
Alarielle’s worn soul, their bodies a glass, or streams of magma revealed Everchosen had taken the measure
shield of flesh against daemon-steel beneath a shifting crust of rock. of his foes, and had judged the
when all other methods failed. Brilliant white light shone out through greatest threat to lie in the centre,
the wounds, dazzling and painful where Grimgor and the Emperor
By contrast, Gelt fought as never to behold, and the entire chamber – fought. The black orc Immortulz
before. Of all the Incarnates, the perhaps the entire Fauschlag– gave a had punched through the troupes
wizard had the greatest hope of sudden, jarring lurch. of daemonettes, and were wreaking
victory. He had walked the dark path ruin in the plaguebearer tallybands
of necromancy, and yet emerged behind. Archaon was impressed that
into the light. Why would fate have so few of the brutish greenskins could
allowed such a thing, only to see have wrought so much slaughter, and
him fail when the world needed him considered for the first time that he
most? This surety – and the revelation might have underestimated the orcish
of Sigmar – drove the wizard to tribes. Not that it mattered now.
wield the power of Chamon with a
determination he had never before Archaon struck the Immortulz’ flank
known. With a gesture, he unbound at full gallop. The Slayer of Kings
the enchantments that held together slashed down, cleaving through a
plagueswords and daemonblades; black orc’s armour to lay his flesh
with piercing words, he loosed Great slabs of rock crashed down open to the bone. Other greenskins
swarms of flesh-rending shards to from the ceiling, pulverising zombies, threw themselves at the Everchosen,
tear scores of daemons apart. A daemons and even a few luckless roaring their crude threats. Archaon
Bloodthirster swooped across the elves. The Great Unclean One rammed the ridge of his heavy shield
cavern, the membranes of its wings Bolragoth practically burst under the down onto one attacker, snarling
grazing the tips of stalactites. Gelt impact, foetid liquid loosed from the in satisfaction at the sudden howl
sent forth a searing beam of molten turgid prison of his skin to spatter and the snap of bone. The Slayer of
light that burned the greater daemon across all who fought in his shadow. Kings’ vicious steel claimed the rest,
to ashes. The chasms in the floor grew wider as the blade tracing circles of dark fire
the cavern floor bucked and heaved. in the air as it clove limbs and tore
Behind all came Nagash, his looming Three Reiksguard and a dozen throats away. With every kill, Archaon
presence inscrutable, his power skullcrushers vanished without trace pressed deeper into the greenskin
overwhelming. His zombie horde as the rock beneath their feet fell ranks, hacking a path of corpses for
groaned and lurched as it fanned away into darkness. Tyrion, fighting the Swords of Chaos to follow.
out behind the other Incarnates, the to the Reiksguard’s left, was almost
mass of dead forcing the daemons claimed by the same abyss. Malhandir It did not take long for Grimgor to
back by sheer weight of numbers and leapt clear at the last moment, realise that his Immortulz were
mindless persistence. Yet even with carrying the prince away from doom. under attack. At once, he recognised
much of his mind bent on his minions’ Unfortunately for Tyrion, the loyal Archaon as the foe that Malekith had
progress, the Great Necromancer had steed landed poorly, his right foreleg spoken of, the being who would end
attention enough to spare for his own lamed by impact. Malhandir would the world, and thus rob Grimgor of
battles. Spirits swirled about him, run no more that day. a never-ending Waaagh!. Hauling

240 | Chapter 5
Gitsnik from the ruin of a Great mighty bellow, the black orc whirled Staggering back, Archaon felt the
Unclean One’s corpse, the black anticlockwise, the motion pulling Eye of Sheerian grow dark. He raised
orc warlord bellowed and took off him away from the Everchosen’s a gauntleted hand to the front of
towards the golden-helmed foe, strike, and lending Gitsnik crushing his helm and traced his fingers over
barging aside friends and enemies as momentum. Even then, he wasn’t the dented metal. The eye was no
he did so. quite fast enough – the Slayer of Kings more, crushed by orc’s headbutt. The
gouged a new scar across the left Everchosen saw Grimgor approach,
As Grimgor bore down on Archaon, side of his face and tore away what more slowly this time, and heard the
the Everchosen gestured and two remained of his already mangled warlord’s rumbling, mocking laugh.
Swords of Chaos advanced on the ear. None of this robbed the merest He had underestimated the orcs
raging orc. Their steeds’ eyes shone ounce of strength from Grimgor’s – this brute was far stronger than
red as they charged, their lowered blow. Gitsnik struck Archaon’s shield he appeared, his crude bladework
lance-points gleaming with the cursed dead-centre. Sparks flew, the shield perhaps even a match for the Lord
enchantments of the north. Grimgor buckled, and Archaon crashed from of the End Times. However, Archaon
ducked low under the first blade, his his saddle. still had one advantage. He loathed
back-handed axe blow scything low to employ it simply to defeat the base
across the steed’s fetlocks. Man and creature before him, but it was far
beast collapsed in a sudden bloody preferable to meeting defeat at the
smear, the rider tumbling end over greenskin’s hands. With a whispered
end into a knot of plaguebearers. curse, Archaon unravelled the
Rising up, Grimgor rammed Gitsnik’s enchantments that bound U’zuhl’s
blade into the second horse’s mouth. strength into the Slayer of Kings, and
The steed reared up in pain, all felt the greater daemon’s vigour join
momentum lost, and the Chaos knight to his own.
crashed to the ground. Grimgor was Grimgor was on the Everchosen
on the northlander in an eye-blink, as soon as he struck the ground. Grimgor knew at once that something
pinning him to the ground with Gitsnik hacked down again and again, had changed. The Everchosen had
a heavy foot on his chest, before scarring angry red lines across the been swift before, but now he was
striking his head clean off with a Armour of Morkar. Archaon lashed swifter still. Each of Archaon’s blows
single sweep of his axe. Looking up out with his blade, the serrated edge hissed out with a viper’s speed, the
at Archaon, less than a dozen paces cutting a livid wound across the black sword’s edge hacking splinters of
away, Grimgor sneered and levelled orc’s chest. His momentum broken by metal from the warlord’s armour
Gitsnik’s blade in challenge. the sudden pain, Grimgor staggered and opening bloody wounds across
back, and the Everchosen sprang his flesh. Yet Grimgor did not yield.
Archaon responded to Grimgor’s to his feet as if his armour weighed Gitsnik hacked and cut in a ceaseless
defiance by spurring Dorghar to nothing. Yet scarcely had Archaon flurry, but somehow Archaon’s blade
greater effort. The daemon-steed regained his footing than Grimgor was intercepted every strike. No longer
reacted at once, its flaming hooves on him again, axe swinging in arcs did the Everchosen attempt to match
pounding across the dead and dying. that made the air scream. Grimgor in a battle of strength;
Grimgor held his ground against instead he sought to parry the blows.
the snorting, charging steed. He Archaon thrust the Slayer of Kings
ignored the point of the Slayer of into Gitsnik’s path. The axe came Six times in all the warboss and
Kings spearing towards his face, and to jarring halt, but the shock of the the Everchosen crossed blades. On
the plume of rippling fire that trailed impact almost caused the Everchosen the sixth strike, the Slayer of Kings
from Archaon’s helm. The warlord to lose his grip on the daemon- split Gitsnik’s haft below the axe-
just hefted his axe, feeling its familiar sword. Their blades locked together, head. Grimgor did not give up as the
weight against his palms, and waited Grimgor and Archaon threw their full heavy blade fell away, but brought
for the moment to strike. strength into the clash, each trying the remains of the haft down hard
to overpower the other by brute on Archaon’s golden crown. The
It came almost at once. Dorghar force. For a long moment, they stood Everchosen staggered under the force
accelerated further as he closed battle-scarred face to helm – so close of the blow, but the wooden shaft
the final distance. Archaon stabbed that Archaon could smell the black shattered into fragments. Grimgor
the Slayer of Kings’ point down, orc’s rancid breath. Then, Grimgor abandoned the useless weapon and
the cursed steel aimed true for slammed his bony skull forward into threw himself at the Everchosen,
the centre of Grimgor’s skull. But the Everchosen’s helm, and the two powerful fingers reaching for
Grimgor was already moving. With a were flung apart. Archaon’s throat.

Chapter 5 | 241
But the warboss’ luck had at last The Eternity King still had little love
abandoned him. With a dark laugh, for the asur mage, but was realistic
Archaon brought the Slayer of Kings enough to know that the chances of
around in a wicked arc, and struck the victory were greater with Teclis freed
black orc’s head from his shoulders. and fighting at their side than without.

The Everchosen didn’t even spare Urging Seraphon to one last effort,
Grimgor’s lifeless body a glance as he Malekith soared across the cavern,
hauled himself back into Dorghar’s for there were no shadows close
saddle. He didn’t see the spectral enough for him to utilise. He nearly
form billow from the orc’s body, all didn’t make it. Blazing Tzeentchian
fangs, claws and thick shaggy fur. fire pursued Seraphon through the
For a moment, the fading aspect of air, scorching the mighty dragon’s
Ghur shone amber in the dark of already ravaged hide. Moreover, the
the chamber. Then it collapsed into magister of Archaon’s coven – who
wisps of light, and was drawn into the still bore Teclis’ sword and staff as
pulsating artefact by unseen winds. trophies – broke off from his ritual to
join the attack. Lightning sprang from
Grimgor’s death drove the surviving his fingertips, shattering the dragon’s
Immortulz berserk. As the last of Ghur belly scales and blowing apart the
was ripped from them, they bellowed flesh within.
one final earth-shaking Waaagh! and
threw themselves at the Swords of With a last wrathful cry, Seraphon
Chaos with redoubled fury. They were plunged groundwards, striking
a magnificent sight, one whose power the cavern floor with tremendous
could not have been denied even by force. Yet even in death the black
those whose realms had suffered at dragon claimed a tally of her foes,
greenskin hands. Northlanders fell to for her skidding impact bowled
their knees, blood seeping from rents aside a dozen ritualists, the last of
in ruined armour, or were hammered whom was the magister himself.
aside by thudding fists. The Swords Shaken by the impact, but otherwise
of Chaos’ shield wall cracked apart unharmed, Malekith hauled himself
under that unrelenting pounding, and free of his saddle. For a moment, he
Archaon’s cavalry were driven back. stared at the glistening sphere, its
surface close enough to touch, had
Elsewhere, Malekith’s battle against he been so foolishly inclined. Then
the Lords of Change was all but done. the artefact pulsed once more, and
His first opponent – too confident in Malekith moved hurriedly away.
his abilities by far – had sought to Vaulting a yawning chasm, he ran to
challenge the Eternity King in a duel the magister’s pulverised remains. As
of sorcery. His crisped and lacerated Seraphon gave one, last shuddering
corpse now stood as testament to convulsion behind him, the Eternity
the folly of that desire. Tchzen of King gathered up the staff and sword,
the Silver Claw had chosen physical and sped to free Teclis.
confrontation, drawing upon the
power of Ghur to raise its already Alas for Grimgor’s Immortulz, even
inhuman strength and fury to greenskin rage had its limits, and
incredible levels. That one had torn these were reached all too soon.
Seraphon’s hide bloody before she Slowly but surely, the wings of the
had torn out its throat, but the dragon northlander shield wall looped around
yet fought on. and inward, gradually enveloping the
roaring black orcs. Surrounded on all
As the balance of power in the cavern sides, fighting on against impossible
shifted in response to the black odds, the last of the Immortulz finally
orcs’ charge, Malekith caught sight perished. Behind them, they left a pile
of Teclis, shackled to the rock wall. of black-armoured dead, of broken
weapons and shivered shields – proof As the battle raged and the lightning destiny as it was conscious desire
of deeds worthy of remembrance, if flared, other forces converged on that drove them. Some fates were
any there lived to tell of them. the Swords of Chaos. Teclis, freed inevitable, and it appeared that the
from his shackles by the strike of deciding battle between the Three-
Sigmar, however, was more concerned Malekith’s sword, unleashed torrent Eyed King and the Emperor ranked
with the present than posterity. In after torrent of fire and lightning, the amongst their number.
their death throes, the Immortulz spells powered as much by his pent
had wrought havoc amongst the up rage and pain as by the winds of Minute by bloody minute, the
Swords of Chaos. The northlanders magic themselves. Tyrion, though Incarnate host and the Swords of
were as vulnerable as they were ever slowed by his lamed steed, brought Chaos ground each other to bloody
likely to be, and the moment could his own warriors hard against the offal. The last Reiksguard perished
not be missed. Lightning arced from Swords’ northern flank. Nagash drove as the sphere gave another pulse of
the Emperor’s upraised fist, and the his zombies in behind the elves, a expansion, the spiderweb of lines now
bloodletters fighting to his front were wall of dead flesh that prevented the covering almost all of its surface. The
hurled aside with a smell of scorched daemons from surrounding Sigmar’s last three elves died to a sweep of the
ichor. Before the daemonic ranks desperate spearhead. No longer Slayer of Kings soon after.
could flow back together, Deathclaw did the Great Necromancer spend
was through the gap, the last of the his attention on spells to assail the The Swords of Chaos were all but
Reiksguard riding hard behind him. daemons. Now, all of his effort was finished as well. Of a warband that
fixed on maintaining his unbreathing had once numbered hundreds, only
Lightning crackled about the griffon barricade, on restoring the zombies to a few score remained, and this tally
as he charged, and thunder echoed unlife in the same moment they were shrank further with Ghal Maraz’s
behind, the corona of energy growing hacked down, ravaged by daemonfire every strike. Those who remained
with every loping step. The rearmost or torn apart by claws. The strain fought as a grim band about the
Swords of Chaos heard the Emperor’s must have been immense but, as ever, Everchosen, determined to defend
coming. They turned to face the new Nagash gave no outward sign. their master even at the cost of their
threat, but their response was too own lives. Yet in this, the Swords
fractured and too late. Ghal Maraz Yet even with all this, the Emperor’s would not meet their desire. Archaon
crashed down and the hastily- charge stalled, just as that of the had no fear of the Emperor, saw
assembled line of shields crumpled, greenskins had earlier ground to him only as another champion to be
their bearers hurled lifeless through a halt. The Swords of Chaos were overcome. The Lord of the End Times
the air by the impact. Deathclaw did the northlands’ finest warriors, and had bested him once in the streets
not slow, but forged on through the not easily cast aside by desperate of Averheim, and now he rode forth
armoured ranks. Axes and swords gestures of courage. Elves and men over the mound of dead and dying to
hacked deep into the griffon’s flanks, died by the score as the northlanders defeat the Emperor once and for all.
but between the blasts of lightning shook off their earlier disorder and
and Ghal Maraz’s bludgeoning weight, fought with the murderous skill that Sparks flew as Ghal Maraz struck the
no northlander survived to land a had fuelled their legend. Slayer of Kings, the sound of their
second blow. meeting reverberating around the
Archaon was ever where the fighting chamber. Lightning rippled along the
Before the Swords of Chaos could was thickest, and the Slayer of Kings hammer’s rune-etched head, vying
overwhelm the Emperor as they had was a reaper’s blade that day. The with the dark fire that rippled forth
the Immortulz, the Reiksguard struck. Everchosen had not yet had the from the Slayer of Kings. Again and
They did not charge alone. Many of opportunity to rebind U’zuhl into again the weapons clashed. These
the surviving elves came also, and the cursed steel, and the daemon’s were not killing blows – not yet.
with them Gelt and Alarielle. The strength and speed was still his. Yet Rather, they were strikes crafted to
Emperor was a beacon of hope in that every blow Archaon struck marked test the other’s strength and will.
dark place, and even without words a battle of wills. U’zuhl longed to Deathclaw and Dorghar were not so
he inspired his allies to greater effort. be free, and sought mastery of his restrained as their riders, and saw no
Lances and swords clanged from wielder at every turn. However, the need to hold back. The griffon’s talons
northlander plate, then glowed golden Everchosen refused to succumb, and raked the daemon-steed’s head and
as the Incarnate of Metal sent magic fought on as his own master. neck, drawing forth welts of ichor. In
to hone the steel. Alarielle healed response, Dorghar stamped and bit,
what harms she could, trying to With each blow, with each fallen rising high on his hide legs to batter
ignore the ravaged Weave screaming foe, Archaon and the Emperor drew the griffon with spiked forelegs and
in her mind. nigh to one another. It was as much iron-hard hooves.

Chapter 5 | 243
 As the remaining Swords of Chaos in a spill of blood. Archaon ignored split apart almost at the Emperor’s
fought and died around them, the the stench of his own scorched feet, swallowing the corpses that
Everchosen and the Emperor pulled flesh and pulled himself upright, had cushioned his fall. Behind the
back momentarily, having taken each determined to capitalise on his Emperor, Archaon levelled the Slayer
other’s measure. Then, with bellowed foe’s weakness with another lunge. of Kings, and ordered his daemon-
battle cries that drowned out all else, As he did so, Deathclaw lashed steed to charge.
they urged their steeds forward and out. Abandoning his attack, the
the last battle began. Everchosen braced his shield against The Emperor heard the galloping
the griffon’s strike, feeling the metal hooves behind him, and turned
In Averheim, the Emperor had shudder as the talons gouged three wearily to face his attacker. Ghal
been the Everchosen’s inferior, had scars across the battered metal. Maraz was heavy in his hand, its
matched Archaon through desperate grips slippery with blood. The
need. Now, however, things were Given a moment of respite by his loyal Everchosen was the spectre of death
greatly different. Sigmar had been steed, the Emperor struck anew, but upon a fell steed, as inevitable and
reunited with Ghal Maraz, and with his blows were slower than before. unstoppable as the setting of the
it the full fury of his heavenly power. The entire right side of his armour sun, and yet Sigmar held his ground.
Furthermore, Archaon had been was slippery with his own blood, his Time seemed to slow, and his eyes
robbed of his own sorceries – and right arm so weakened by Archaon’s swept the chamber, taking in the full
his gift of foresight – when Grimgor’s blow that he had to wield Ghal extent of those who had given their
headbutt had closed the Eye of Maraz’s killing weight two-handed. lives to bring him to this point. In that
Sheerian. No longer could he sever the The hammer smashed down, and this moment, the Emperor was galvanised
Emperor from the power of Azyr. time it struck the Slayer of Kings aside by fresh strength.
and slammed into Archaon’s chest,
Thus did Archaon find himself in a crushing one of the Everchosen’s With a mighty shout, the Emperor
truly equal contest for the first time skull-amulets to powder and buckling brought Ghal Maraz up in a gleaming
in many centuries. What edge he his breastplate. arc. The golden hammer smashed into
did have was his solely by virtue Dorghar’s jaw with so much force that
of U’zuhl’s borrowed strength. The splinters of bone lanced up through
Emperor fought with desperate need, the daemon-steed’s brain, killing it
smiting the Everchosen with little instantly. Archaon’s blow went wide
regard for his own defence. Each as he crashed from Dorghar’s saddle,
punishing blow bled seamlessly into rolling twice amongst the dead before
the next, forcing Archaon into a series coming to rest.
of shuddering parries that threatened
to strike the Slayer of Kings from the Thus began the final duel between
his hand. Archaon suppressed his sudden pain Emperor and Everchosen. Both were
with a snarl, and lunged forward grievously wounded, their flesh
Again Ghal Maraz crashed down. This once again whilst the Emperor was bloodied and scorched, yet each
time Archaon twisted in his saddle, still off-balance. This time, however, found fresh reserves of strength.
and the hammerhead slammed into he struck not at the Emperor, but Archaon was swifter than his foe,
his shield, denting it further, then slid at his steed. Deathclaw screeched and the Slayer of Kings’ wicked edge
clear with a scrape of metal. That wildly as the Slayer of Kings’ blade sliced many times into the Emperor’s
opening was all Archaon required. razored through plumage, flesh and flesh. Yet in that hour, Ghal Maraz
With a cry of triumph, he lunged the thick corded muscle of his throat. was the superior weapon, and neither
forwards and upwards. The Emperor Blood sprayed from severed arteries, daemon-blade nor northlander shield
shouted in pain as the Slayer of Kings drenching Archaon and Dorghar. could still its fury.
lanced through his breastplate and With a final gasping cry, Deathclaw
scraped against his ribs. slumped forward, almost crushing the Back and forth along the chasm edge
Everchosen beneath his dead weight. the battle raged, but it was clear
As if in answer to the Emperor’s As the griffon struck the cavern floor, that there could be only one victor.
call, lightning crackled from his the Emperor was flung clear, coming Sigmar fought with his own strength
outstretched hand. Three times it to rest amongst a pile of elven dead. alone, whilst Archaon battled not only
smote Archaon about the chest and with his, but also that of the daemon
head. It knocked the Everchosen back As the Emperor staggered to his feet, U’zuhl. At last, the Emperor’s vigour
in the saddle, his daemon-sword the sphere pulsed once more. With ebbed, and Ghal Maraz slipped from
pulling free from the Emperor’s flesh a savage rumble, the cavern floor his hands.

244 | Chapter 5
A rchaon stepped towards
the Emperor, savouring
the moment of victory. U’zuhl’s
As the Slayer of Kings hissed down,
Sigmar raised a clenched fist, two
fingers rising in the sign of the twin-
voice was raging in the tailed comet. Then he lowered his
Everchosen’s mind, but the joy fingers, and punched his hand into
of triumph could not be unmade the air. Lightning flared from the
by a daemon’s pettiness. Emperor’s fist, striking the daemon-
‘To think that one of your sword’s blade. This was no short
allies believed you a god,’ burst of energy as he had wielded
Archaon mocked. before, but a sustained torrent that
‘There is no victory for you hissed and sparked. His muscles
here.’ The Emperor’s voice was paralysed by the lightning’s energy,
that of an old man – tired, and Archaon could not move, could do
bitter. Archaon could scarcely nothing as the Emperor poured all
credit that he had ever believed of his remaining strength into that
him a threat. ‘You could have searing pulse.
been the best of us, could have
been the sword that swept the
Empire clean of Chaos. But you
are nothing, a petty warlord
held prisoner by his pride.’
Overcome by sudden anger,
Archaon slammed his shield into
the Emperor’s head and body.
He staggered, but did not fall.
‘Prophecy put you on this
path, did it not?’ the Emperor
asked, wiping blood and teeth
from his mouth. ‘You embraced
those words to gain the power
they contained, but in doing so
you wrote your own end.’
Archaon scarcely heard the
Emperor’s words. He burned With a wrenching scream of tortured
to break the man who stood metal, the Slayer of Kings exploded.
unbowed before him. Shards of daemon-steel ricocheted
‘A champion of light shall stand from Archaon’s armour as the dread
alone against the Three-Eyed sword died, the soul of U’zuhl at last
King...’ the Emperor breathed. freed and cast back into the Realm
All at once, Archaon was of Chaos. As the daemon’s strength
weary of the Emperor’s left him, Archaon sagged. Before
prattling. The joy of victory the Everchosen could recover, the
had gone stale in the face of Emperor locked his fists together.
the other’s defiance, but blood With a wordless cry, he slammed
would restore it. them into Archaon’s expressionless
‘No weapon shall he have but helm, knocking the Everchosen back
his will, and yet his spark shall one step, and then two. The second
rise to a mighty flame.’ footfall found not rock, however, but a
With a roar, Archaon raised chasm’s empty void.
the Slayer of Kings high, and
brought it hissing down. Archaon threw himself forward as he
fell, his gauntleted fingers scraping
against rock as he sought purchase.
Then the ledge crumbled, and
Archaon Everchosen, Lord of the End
Times, fell into darkness.
 Even as Archaon plunged from sight, The Everchosen had been defeated, In the end, they would have been lost
the skin of the sphere shattered and his army cast into the void. The but for Teclis. Rooting his staff in the
and collapsed in on itself, leaving Swords of Chaos were no more. ground, the mage drew in the stray
a swirling rift of dark energy in its Though it had cost them the lives of energies of Ghur and Aqshy, even
place. Howling winds sprung up every warrior who marched at their though he knew it would be his doom.
across the chamber, buffeting the side, the Incarnates stood as masters The loremaster had near unrivalled
mortals towards the rift. The daemons of the battlefield. Yet the world understanding of magic, but no mortal
were even more profoundly affected, teetered on the brink of destruction could embrace the full force of two
their skin streaming like molten wax, all the same. Through her connection winds and survive. Scarcely had
the droplets carried into the darkness to the Weave, Alarielle felt the Teclis begun when his skin began
by the merciless winds. Within world’s bedrock warp under the rift’s to blacken, and his mind started its
moments, the last of the daemons influence, as pure Chaos forced its irretrievable descent into madness.
had been banished, carried into the way into the mortal realm. It was but Yet still he held true, certain that no
terrifying realm of their creation by a trickle, but it would soon become a other could take his place.
the rift’s awakening. flood if they did not contain it. Thus
did the six Incarnates wearily harness As Teclis’ flesh began to boil and
Though less than half the size its their remaining might and strive to peel, the winds of Ghur and Aqshy
parent had been at the time of its turn the influx of Chaos back on itself. at last started to quieten, allowing
collapse, the rift grew steadily – not the Incarnates to resume their
in anarchic pulses, but gradually, Had there been eight Incarnates in incantations. Slowly – imperceptibly
inexorably. The fitful tremors of before that chamber, still the contest would at first – the rift began to shrink as
were gone, replaced by an ominous have been a struggle. As it was, with its power waned. Yet success was far
rumble whose intensity grew with Caradryan and Grimgor dead, it was from assured. Even a moment’s slip
every passing moment. Beneath the almost impossible. The winds of could reverse the rift’s momentum.
growing rift, the rock of the cavern magic were strong in that chamber, Moreover, if Teclis succumbed to the
floor rippled like water in a whirlpool, for they swirled undiluted from the forces he served as the conduit for,
its colour and form changing second Realm of Chaos itself. Whilst each of then the resulting turbulence would
by second. Leering faces formed in the Incarnates held sway over their make victory impossible. If there had
the stone, then vanished beneath own wind, and could turn its strength been another wizard present to take
the surface as the currents shifted. back upon itself, the masterless winds a part of Teclis’ burden, then success
All around the chamber, natural law of Beasts and Fire ran rampant, would have seemed certain. However,
began to buck and heave as the raw shattering the delicate incantations of so far as the Incarnates knew, there
stuff of Chaos leaked into the world. the ritual without warning. was no such being at hand.

M annfred von Carstein slipped into the ritual

chamber to find the Incarnates labouring before
the shrinking rift. He recognised at once what the
truth was that he could no longer tell the difference
between his own embittered pride and the gods’
venomous words. Even when he had served Nagash, he
Incarnates were attempting, and silently applauded had seen precious little reward. Indeed, humiliation had
their audacity, if not their instinct for survival. Self- been heaped upon him time and again. Perhaps it was
sacrifice was not a trait that the erstwhile Lord of better to be the right hand of anarchy than a slave to
Sylvania admired. mindless order.
Dismounting Ashigaroth, Mannfred silently Vlad’s final words had driven Mannfred to this place,
commanded the beast to remain out of sight, and picked had convinced him to take a stand against the forces
his way through the corpse-strewn chamber. So far of Chaos. However, with every step he took through
as the vampire could tell, there was nothing alive in the corpse-choked chamber, the vampire became less
the chamber save for the Incarnates. There was also sure of his intentions. Did he really want to re-enter
a sizable zombie host whose enchantments bore all Nagash’s service, for that was what his chosen course
of Nagash’s powerful yet refined hallmarks, but their surely entailed – assuming any of them survived the
rudimentary senses were easily clouded by one such next few moments? And could he really bear to consider
as Mannfred. the Incarnates his equals – let alone his superiors? Vlad
On Mannfred pressed through the chamber’s flickering had been ready to do so, but Vlad had always been a
light, his motives teetering back and forth. He told sentimental fool.
himself that the Dark Gods were whispering to him – as By the time he reached the rift, and the ring of
they must have done to Kemmler, Harkon and all those Incarnates gathered around it, Mannfred had come to
others who had laboured in Nagash’s service – but the his decision.

248 | Chapter 5
Mannfred struck from the shadows
without warning. His sword took Gelt
in the back, punching effortlessly
through his heart and out through his
breastbone. The force of the thrust
lifted the wizard high in the air. Gelt
hung there for a moment, his arms
limp and his head drooping as if
to gaze with curiosity at the blade
protruding from his chest. But the
truth was that Gelt had perished in
the instant the steel had touched his
heart – and with it, the Incarnates’
hopes of containing the power of the
rift. Mere moments after his life fled
him, a beam of golden light burst from
Gelt’s corpse, and was swallowed
hungrily by the rift.

Without Gelt’s power of metal,

Chamon tore free. Teclis, seeing the
collapse of everything for which
he had striven, reached out and
attempted to channel Chamon as
he already did Ghur and Aqshy. The
strain was too much, even for him.
The entropic forces wracking the
mage’s body accelerated, and he was
blasted to ash.

Teclis’ death signalled the end of

all that the Incarnates had hoped
to achieve. With an ear-splitting
screech and a brilliant flare of inky-
black light, the rift tore loose. The
Incarnates felt their grip slacken in the
moment before it occurred, and flung
up their hands or twisted away in
order to shield their eyes. Mannfred,
however, had no such warning. Even
as he tossed Gelt’s corpse aside, the
vampire was transfixed by the black
wave, and blinded by it.
The rift had tasted power when it away the agony caused by the ritual’s at least fell out of the avalanche’s
touched the mortals who had sought collapse. The prince had scarcely path. Malekith, however, was not so
to cage it, and now it reached out to known Gelt, but the sudden loss of his fortunate, and the Eternity King gave
feed upon its would-be captors. The brother was a terrible burden to bear, a piercing shout of pain as his legs
five surviving Incarnates screamed in and one he was determined to avenge, were crushed.
pain as the rift tore loose their soul- even if it was his last act in the world.
bound magics. Even Nagash was not With a scrape of armour on stone, Archaon had not perished in the
immune, and his bellowed agonies the prince lurched to his feet and bore chasm. He had clung on with all the
were the stuff of mortal nightmares. down upon Mannfred. strength that remained to him and,
The raw essence of sorcery bled from as the Incarnates had attempted their
the Incarnates’ eyes and mouths and Still blinded, the vampire did not desperate ritual, had hauled his way,
into the rift, a swirl of brilliant white, see Tyrion’s approach. Seizing hand over agonising hand, to the
brooding grey, vibrant jade and sickly Mannfred by the shoulder, Tyrion jagged precipice high above. At last,
amethyst. The winds danced for a stabbed Sunfang up through the the Everchosen had clambered free
moment about the patch of darkness, vampire’s belly and into his black of the chasm in the very moment of
then were dragged inside it. heart. Mannfred gave a thin, rattling Mannfred’s treachery. Now, as Sigmar
hiss as the sword slid home – one moved to aid Malekith, Archaon
Suddenly bereft of their magics, the that turned into a wailing scream as loosed a great cry and slammed into
Incarnates collapsed. Malekith and Sunfang’s angry flame took root in his the Emperor from behind.
Nagash were afflicted worst of all, for flesh. Desperate, the vampire fought
the power of shadow and death had Tyrion’s grasp, but the prince’s fingers
long been part of them. The Eternity were like a vice. Mannfred’s entire
King collapsed, head clasped in his body was soon ablaze, the flames
hands, whilst the liche beheld with of his demise licking ineffectually at
unaccustomed panic his deathless Tyrion’s armour. After what seemed
form beginning to unravel, returning like forever, but was in fact just a
to the dust whence it had come. few moments, the scream faded,
Sigmar had been rebound to the wind the flames dying alongside. Tyrion
of Azyr for mere hours, but the agony released his grip, and the blackened,
of separation was all the deeper for wizened cadaver that had once been
the second loss. Even Tyrion, joined Mannfred von Carstein shattered
to Hysh for mere days, fell to the against the cavern floor.
ground like a puppet whose strings
had cut – though he was quicker to Fed by the Incarnates’ stolen power,
rise than his allies. the rift began to grow. The ritual
chamber, already pushed to the
Only Alarielle felt no physical pain. limit, began to succumb. The walls
With Ghyran’s departure, her link to shuddered and cracked, sickly
the Weave had been severed also. For yellow blood bleeding out through
the first time since she had become the wounds. Vast sections of the Archaon’s voice was raw and
the queen of Athel Loren, Alarielle no cavern floor fell away into a bleak desperate, born of fury, humiliation
longer felt the death-agonies of an darkness, filled with gleaming eyes and soul-rotting hatred. He hammered
unbalanced world, but this gave her and snapping teeth. Boulders and at the Emperor with gauntleted fists,
little satisfaction, for she felt suddenly stalactites fell like rain. seeking to keep him off balance,
and inexplicably alone. Mannfred driving him ever closer to the edge
knew none of this, for the darkness Tyrion saw a great spill of rock tear of the rift. Ghal Maraz struck him
that had stolen his sight had ravaged loose from the ceiling and plunge a glancing blow, tearing away thick
his wits also – a last gift from the towards Alarielle. The prince shouted armour plates and leaving the flesh
gods he had chosen to serve. He a warning, but it was lost amongst beneath mangled, but the Everchosen
staggered across the chamber like a the tumult of the chamber’s collapse. hardly slowed. Sigmar raised the
pleasure boat in stormy seas, ranting The Everqueen would have perished hammer high for a second blow,
and railing nonsensically at voices then had not Malekith, driven by a but Archaon threw himself forward,
only he could hear. motive that he would never be able gripping the hammer’s haft. For a
to discern, shoved Alarielle clear. moment, the two men wrestled on the
Tyrion was the first to recover, the The Everqueen fell heavily, striking edge of the rift. Then they were gone,
wrath kindling in his heart driving her head hard on the ground, but she lost amidst the swirling darkness.

Chapter 5 | 251
 M alekith lay on his side,
his shattered legs pinned
beneath a slab of rock. The pain
‘Do I not get some consideration?’
As he spoke, the rubble on his legs
shifted. He stifled a gasp of pain as
‘We can all feel it,’ the Everqueen
went on. ‘With such power, we
could have created a new world in
was unbearable, but it was nothing his shattered bones ground against our own image. If only Lileath had
compared to the void in his soul. one another. understood, then all of this might
The rift’s creation had ripped not Tyrion turned towards Malekith. have counted for something.’
just Ulgu from him – all the magic ‘I can speed your passing, if that is Tyrion helped Alarielle to her feet.
he had once been heir to had what you desire,’ the prince replied, The prince and the Everqueen turned
been sucked away, leaving only a his tone bereft of anger, yet holding their backs on Malekith to stare into
yawning emptiness behind. For the no suggestion of mercy. the rift. Overhead, what remained
first time in millennia, Malekith was ‘I have walked this world for seven of the cavern roof gave another
utterly helpless. thousand years,’ Malekith muttered, ominous groan.
At the centre of the chamber, the fighting to keep the pain from his Alarielle turned back to gaze
rift gleamed malevolently. Malekith voice. ‘I will bide until its end.’ down at Malekith, a sudden strength
could just about make out Nagash’s The outer edge of the rift drew back in her voice. ‘It is not yours to
disintegrating form on the far level with Seraphon’s corpse. The wield. Our chance was lost, and our
side. The ancient liche’s dimming mighty dragon’s scales and sinews time is over.’
witchfires seemed to be staring burst into dust at its caress, then The edge of the rift was close now.
bleakly into the void. Had his magic coalesced into shimmering droplets Alarielle clasped one of Tyrion’s
been ripped from him also? Malekith of liquid. They orbited the growing gauntleted hands in both of hers,
wondered. Did the great and mighty rift for a moment, and were then and turned her back on Malekith
Nagash know despair for the first sucked into its abyssal heart. once more. For a moment, the prince
time in thousands of years? That Alarielle’s eyelids twitched, and and the Everqueen stood silhouetted
thought was enough to elicit a brief the Everqueen uttered a gasping against the rift’s roiling darkness,
smile, despite the pain. moan, neither fully conscious nor and then they were gone.
Alarielle lay motionless to wholly otherwise. The air was both scalding hot
Malekith’s left, her face masked in ‘You could flee,’ Malekith and freezing cold at the same time.
blood. Even now, the Eternity King suggested archly. ‘Take her and go. Malekith could feel daemonic voices
could not fathom why he had felt Malhandir is swift. Perhaps he can inside his skull, gnawing at what
moved to save her. Perhaps, as had outrun this doom.’ little remained of his sanity. Then
often been said, a selfless act by ‘Where would we go?’ Tyrion the edge of the rift swept over
Malekith the Betrayer had indeed replied grimly. ‘This is the Rhana him also, and with it a deep and
heralded the world’s demise. With Dandra, the end of all things. There impenetrable darkness.
that thought, his smile became a is no outrunning it.’ Malevolent laughter echoed
choking laugh. One last jest before ‘Fool,’ Malekith spat. ‘Were I about Malekith. Memories from the
the end of everything. in your place, I would leave in past danced before his eyes like
Malekith’s laughter ceased a heartbeat.’ phantoms: recollections of a father’s
abruptly as Tyrion limped across ‘No, you wouldn’t.’ coldness, and a mother’s cruel love.
his field of vision. The prince’s ‘Dying at the side of one’s allies In an instant, Malekith relived every
face was bloodied from battle, his is entirely too noble a sentiment for betrayal, every malicious deed, and
armour scorched from the fury of the likes of I.’ every failure.
Mannfred’s demise. Without a word ‘Indeed it is,’ said Alarielle, Suddenly, the memories were
– without a glance – at Malekith, suddenly awake – although barely gone, cut away as if by a knife.
Tyrion knelt at Alarielle’s side, and so, if her wan appearance was any The creature that had once been
shucked off his torn cloak. Silently, indication. ‘You would choose to Malekith felt a moment of panic,
he folded the thick cloth into a remain out of a desire to claim the for he found that he could not even
bundle, and placed it beneath the rift’s power.’ recall his own name.
Everqueen’s head. Malekith glowered at the Then the laughter faded, and only
‘How touching,’ Malekith sneered. Everqueen, but said nothing. the darkness remained.

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A nd so the mortal world fell away into oblivion.
The gnawing rift at the heart of mankind’s
domain devoured reality.
Slowly it spread at first, but then with the hunger of
ravening wildfire.
Invigorated, great polar rifts slipped their ancient
bounds and joined their younger sibling in its feast.
The peoples of the world beheld their doom, and
screamed in despair.
No two watchers beheld the same vision. Some saw
skies riven with fire, some looked upon an ice-cold
maelstrom of stars, some saw colossal tentacles and
fanged maws that drooled the molten stuff of Chaos.
Perhaps the Dark Gods raised their champions to
daemonhood from the battles that raged amongst the
flames. It matters little, for the truths of those hopeless
wars are lost.
The Oak of Ages was swallowed last of all. Mournful
dryad-song echoed under livid skies as Athel Loren
perished. With its destruction, the Weave that bound
time and space together thinned and stretched.
Twisted by unnatural energies, it dissolved entirely
into nothingness.
That terrible act of uncreation might have taken
the blink of an eye, or unfolded across millennia. The
Dark Gods were not fettered by the flow of time, and
let it pass unmarked. Already tired of their victory,
they turned away from the ruin they had wrought and
began the Great Game anew in other worlds and other
creations. In doing so, they paid no heed to the tiny
speck of light tumbling in the infinite darkness – the
glowing essence of what had once been a man.
Through the storm of nothingness he fell, adrift for
aeons upon unseen tides.
Then came a glimmering orb, a fiery world-heart
grown cold as the abyss.
Desperate, the figure seized upon the sphere with a
grip that could shatter mountains. He stared into the
void, and from the darkness, the void stared back.
The figure clung tight, marshalling his faded strength.
He reached forth his hand, and a miracle took shape.

And what of tomorrow? What of tales yet to be told,

and the cycle of the stars?

These were truly the End Times.

But they were also the beginning.