‘Aye, and I know just the Stormcast to see to it. Ho, winged one, make yourself useful… Take out those catapults,’ Zephacleas shouted.
He did not see whether his command was obeyed, for a knot of skaven came at him in a rush, and he was forced to defend himself. He heard men scream and die, and the dull roar of their spirits ascending back to Azyr, bound for Reforging. The black clouds above were struck through with hundreds of pinholes made by these flashes of bright light. How many warriors had already returned to the cosmic forges?
Too many, he thought, as he spitted a skaven on his sword. He turned towards the Gates of Dawn and saw the tiny form of Gardus locked in combat with the bloated nightmare at the top. Hurry, my friend, he thought, before this all becomes for naught — hurry, Gardus. Hurry!
Chapter Nine
Duel at the Gates of Dawn
Gardus’s lungs burned as he climbed, and his legs soon ached, but he refused to slow. He could hear the rumble of one of the greater daemon’s bodyguards pursuing him, but he couldn’t afford to stop and confront the creature. The Gates of Dawn had to be closed, one way or another. If he could destroy the realmgate, the battle would be won.
As he reached the uppermost landing, the archway began to tremble, the stones grinding against one another. Bolathrax flung his hands out in a throwing motion, and the darkness beyond the arch suddenly congealed and burst. A dozen monstrous flies — each one larger than a man, and bearing a plaguebearer on its back — exploded out from the archway and shot towards the battle, followed by thousands of their smaller kin.
Gardus stared in shock as the plague drones flew past him. He turned to look at the Gates of Dawn. It had become tainted, he knew — it was now nothing more than a blasphemous canker in the skin of reality, leading to Chaos itself. His heart shuddered in his chest as he stared into the swirling darkness. It pulsed with an unholy rhythm, like a thing alive. I have to destroy it, he thought, hesitation turning to determination.
‘Look who it is,’ Bolathrax said, as he turned to look down at Gardus. ‘Come alone, little boil? I suppose your friends are rather busy, eh?’ The Great Unclean One laughed.
‘One of me is more than enough to handle the likes of you,’ Gardus said, whipping his hammer out and around.
The head punched into Bolathrax’s belly, tearing the sagging flesh. Gardus struck again and again, making great wounds in the daemon’s body. Bolathrax sagged back, mouth open in a mocking leer.
‘Oh, I don’t think so, dear me, no,’ the Great Unclean One rumbled. ‘I simply cannot abide baseless bravado in one so infinitesimal.’ The creature lashed out with his chained flail, shattering stone, and the force of the impact nearly knocked Gardus from the top of the steps. ‘You are nothing, mortal. A momentary distraction, a gaseous emission, passed and just as soon forgotten,’ Bolathrax continued. ‘Just like that frail wretch you call a god. God? Pah! I have met gods and warred with them in Grandfather’s name. Your lightning-hurler is no god. Merely an old wound, yet to properly heal.’ The flail slammed down again, sending a fusillade of stone fragments bouncing off Gardus’s armour. ‘We shall deal with him directly, have no fear. The Age of Chaos has only just begun, and it shall last unto eternity.’
Gardus ducked aside as the flail rose for another blow and struck at the hand holding it. Twisted bone cracked and Bolathrax jerked his arm back, opening himself up. Gardus struck again, and foul juices burst from the resulting wound to slop upon the stones. He nearly slipped in the excrescence and fought to maintain his footing. Disgusted, he watched as nurglings sprouted from the spilled blood and began to caper and dance as he and Bolathrax swung and parried, jabbed and blocked beneath the arch.
‘That… hurt,’ Bolathrax hissed, clutching his wounded limb. With a bone-rattling roar, he drew a rusty blade from its rotting sheath on his hip and hacked at Gardus. ‘You hurt me, pustule!’
As they fought, Gardus caught sight of the battle still raging below. From this height, he could just make out his fellow Stormcast, fighting for their lives, even as he fought for his. He saw the writhing ranks of skaven as they scurried forward, and his Prosecutors locked in battle with the plague drones.
The filthy standards of the plaguebearers waved above their ranks as they pressed the Stormcast, and he could hear the clangour of the skaven war-bells. Then bursts of light, rose in the sky, and his eyes were drawn upwards to the black clouds and beyond.
Bolathrax’s blade slashed out, carving a gouge in Gardus’s shoulder plate and nearly knocking him from his feet. The Great Unclean One lurched forward, blade whipping back with deceptive speed, driving Gardus back across the pus-slick stones. Each blow the daemon landed seemed stronger than the last.
He caught another ringing blow on his hammer, and rolled with it, allowing it to carry him out of the daemon’s reach. As he scrambled to his feet, he backed towards the archway. Gardus had allowed Bolathrax to harry him, so that the daemon wouldn’t realise his true purpose. Now, the time for manoeuvring was done.
‘Determined little flea aren’t you?’ Bolathrax said, pursuing him.
‘Much is demanded of those to whom much is given,’ Gardus said, breathing heavily. He could feel blood trickling down beneath his armour, and his limbs trembled with growing fatigue. The Stormcasts were stronger than mortal men, but even they could tire, especially when facing a creature such as this that knew neither weakness nor hesitation.
‘A worthy sentiment,’ the daemon burbled, lifting its blade. ‘A shame it came from the lips of such frail flesh.’
The blade licked out, drawing sparks from Gardus’s sword. The force of the blow nearly ripped it from his hand. Gardus stumbled back.
‘You are weak, as weak as the godling you serve,’ Bolathrax said. ‘You thought to challenge Grandfather in his garden? For shame.’ The daemon shook its blubbery head in mock-disappointment as it hewed at him. He twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the blow. The sword smashed down and lodged in the stones, giving him a moment’s respite.
The garden, Gardus thought. He glanced towards the archway, and the noisome void beyond. He knew what must be done. Death was a certainty, but failure… Gardus smiled, and spared a glance for the clouds above. Somewhere past them, the wheel of stars would continue to turn. He felt at peace, all doubt and fear gone. Sigmar had commanded him to deny the realmgate to the enemy, and so he would. He met Bolathrax’s gaze, and said, ‘Who will be triumphant?’
Bolathrax hesitated, hideous features twisting into a quizzical expression.
‘Only the faithful,’ Gardus said. Then, he spun, quicker than the daemon could follow, and launched himself through the Gates of Dawn, his hammer raised high.
Chapter Ten
The march of the wargroves
Zephacleas chopped down on a plaguebearer’s horned skull, and looked up as Bolathrax bellowed in rage and what might have been fear. He saw Gardus lunge for the shimmering aperture. Instinctively he flung out a hand as if to catch hold of the other Stormcast and pull him back from the precipice. ‘Gardus — No!’ he shouted, but too late. Even as the words left his mouth, Gardus vanished.
Bolathrax threw back its horned head and howled. Then, with a single, awkward motion, the Great Unclean One flung itself after the Lord-Celestant of the Steel Souls in pursuit. It smashed into the Gates of Dawn, squeezing through the archway with a convulsive heave. As the greater daemon passed through, the archway shuddered and swayed on its keystones and then, with a thunderous roar, it crumbled into a pile of broken stone. As the stones fell, the binding magics of the Gates of Dawn were released, resulting in an explosion of eldritch force. Those daemons closest to the portal were incinerated by the wave of destructive magics that escaped. Still there were many, many more, and they attacked the remaining Stormcasts with renewed ferocity.