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Call of Chaos Quick Read Collection: Warhammer Age of Sigmar – Extract

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An Extract from 'Daemon of the Deep'

Rob Sanders

Even the storm was beautiful.

The churning clouds were lined silver, and lightning streaked across the sky in pastel blues and pinks. The thunder was a melodic boom and the Glass Sea a smashed mirror, the metallic waters reflecting the tempest above. From the bountiful ocean to the Shattered Isles with their jewelled beaches, all was fair to look upon. The islanders, too, were a handsome people. All but Silas.

Silas sat hunched on his bed watching the pretty patterns of the storm through the window. Lightning flashed colour across the room. His chambers were situated in the highest tower of Castle Sheldrac. His window commanded the best view on Ersatz Island. This was not because he commanded such respect – although he was the old chieftain’s youngest son. The view served as a reminder of the beauty of the realm. A contrast to the hideousness of his own form. Silas wore no chains and the chamber doors were not locked, but they might as well have been, for the chieftain’s son never left the tower. He could not bear to see the shame in his brothers’ eyes or the averted gaze of his aged father. He could not walk the clinking beaches of the gem-lined shore for the startled screams of fishwives, the pointing of fine children and island clansmen who shook their heads.

For a few horrible seconds, there was no lightning. The darkness of the casement became a momentary mirror and Silas had his appearance reflected back at him. Anyone would think that the chieftain’s son suffered from a horrific deformity of the face or that a disfiguring disease had ravaged his body. This was not the case. He was an islander. A son of the Shattered Isles. A Sheldrac, well bred. He was as handsome as his brother Rodric. His hair was a lustrous bronze, like his brother Hearn’s. He had his departed mother’s striking green eyes and the noble features of the old chieftain. But for the hump on his back and the curvature of his spine, he was as handsome as any noble son of Clan Sheldrac.

Silas heard shouting from the banquet hall below.

‘You cannot do this,’ a voice cried out. ‘You must not do this.’

It was Teagan. Lady Teagan had come to Ersatz Island from the small kingdom of Tesseraq. Like Ersatz, Tesseraq was a wondrous paradise of precious stone and fine people. The Shattered Isles were an assorted patchwork of dominions, held together by marriage alliances. While the people of Ersatz worshipped the Everqueen and local deities of the depths that blessed their island with bounty, the God-King was popular in civilised Tesseraq. Norvik, a priest of Sigmar, carried the word of the God-King to Ersatz. He had also brought one of King Tynarch’s one hundred daughters – noble maidens that carried his name and were used to forge alliances with distant dominions, like Ersatz.

‘Get out of my way, woman!’ That was Rodric, Silas decided. His brother’s steps echoed up the stone staircase.

‘You must not do this, my lord,’ Lady Teagan implored.

‘This is none of your concern,’ Hearn rumbled. Silas could hear his heavy step also. ‘This is clan business.’

‘But I am to be part of the island clan, am I not, my intended?’ she said to Rodric.

‘Get off me, girl,’ Rodric snapped back. ‘Know your place.’

‘Master Norvik, please,’ Teagan begged, her father’s imperiousness creeping into her voice.

‘It is the will of the God-King,’ Norvik told her in his cracked and aged voice. ‘If our kingdoms are ever to be part of the heavenly realm, we shall need noble men, worthy of Sigmar’s divinity. The healthy. The hardy. Men of clean limb. Men who are a reflection of His own perfect form. We dare not anger the God-King, my lady. Now step aside. This must be done.’

An Extract from 'The Crystal of Fate'

Guy Haley

Duke Phostrin, lord of the Sky Shoals, spoke. ‘Are you sure this will work, wizard?’

‘Yes, yes! Of course.’ The sorcerer Chalix clasped his long hands together in front of his chest and hunched in a manner that might have been a bow, had he ever shown any sort of deference to Duke Phostrin before. Phostrin contemplated the scrawny sorcerer for several hostile seconds. Chalix responded with a sharp-toothed, servile grin.

‘Do you have it, or do you not?’ the sorcerer asked.

Phostrin beckoned. His Chosen, five warriors almost as lordly as he, stepped into the chamber.

‘Vulcris, Barthon, Hurios, Dweft and Magazzar,’ said Chalix, naming them. All in the tower chamber were blessed by their god, but the gifts that Tzeentch had bestowed on the warriors were different to those given to the seers. Chalix was small, emaciated, his bones sharp through his blue skin. The Chosen of Phostrin were massive, swollen far beyond their natural size by magic, clad in gleaming armour of metallic purples and greens, featureless helms hiding their faces.

Vulcris and Dweft came forward, bearing a wriggling bag, which they dumped on the floor in front of the sorcerer. A pained whimpering came from inside.

‘Don’t hurt it!’ said the sorcerer. ‘How is it? Is it beautiful? Is it a fine offering for our lord?’

‘We chased the damn thing all over the Russet Isle,’ said Phostrin. ‘We nearly had it when the tribe there dared defy us. Too many of them grow rebellious as the news of Sigmar’s invasion reaches them, and these were no different. Once they were dealt with, Vulcris here nearly fell to his death when the creature tried to escape up the Marrond Cliffs. It cost us a lot of effort, so it had better be right.’

‘Well then, well then, let me see!’ said Chalix impatiently. Vulcris hauled the sack upright and tore the cloth open. He and Dweft tugged the sack down, revealing the head of the misshapen thing inside, and stepped back.

The sex was impossible to tell. Its head was a distorted ellipse, thicker and heavier at one end than the other so that the creature held it to the left. At the thinner right side, the lips of three small mouths smacked and squirmed over misshapen teeth. Seven eyes, two of them milky with blindness, were situated at random around its lopsided face. Only the nose was in the place nature intended, and it was twisted severely.

‘Exquisite!’ said Chalix. ‘Beautiful, beautiful!’ To admire his prize in full, he yanked the sack down and away. The mutant wore a tunic of rough cloth. It had three arms, very thin, tipped with three-fingered hands. Wiry hair covered the scalp, shoulders, and legs. The legs were well formed and muscular, but the feet were over-large for the body. The mutant flinched as Chalix wrapped his long fingers around its warty chin and tilted its malformed head upwards.

Behind the wizard was a tall mirror framed in glittering silver, a thousand representations of Tzeentch’s holy servants moulded into the metal. It caught the light shining through the chamber’s colonnade, so pure and sharp at the summit of the tower, and cast it up into the domed ceiling. Ripples of light moved around the frescoes there, as mobile as the reflections cast off Anvrok’s silver rivers. Phostrin avoided looking at the ceiling, wary of what the patterns might say to him. Instead, he took in his own reflection, large behind the simpering wizard. The patterns with which Tzeentch had marked his skin were bright upon his face.

Chalix stepped aside so that the mutant might see itself.

Fearfully, it blinked and made a sorry moaning. Thick yellow tears trickled from one of the blind eyes. Chalix grinned maliciously at its woe.

‘Oh, oh, do not cry! You are much blessed by our lord Tzeentch,’ said Chalix. ‘You are perfect! Such random change wrought upon you, you will be a very fine offering to the Changer of the Ways.’

An Extract from 'The Eighth Victory'

Graeme Lyon

‘For the glory of the Blood God, death comes to you!’ Krev Deathstalker’s voice rose above the clamour of battle as he brought his great axe down on the gleaming silver armour of the Stormcast Eternal at his feet. The warrior rolled away and the axe bit into blood-soaked earth. Krev roared and pulled it out, batting away the Stormcast’s strike.

He took a step back and looked at the warrior. His armour was ruined, the shining silver plates dented and scuffed, mud and gore obscuring the symbols of the hated God-King that adorned its surfaces.

The Stormcast raised his sword and hammer and readied himself for Krev’s attack. The impassive gilded mask he wore gave no emotion away, but Krev would have sworn the warrior was smiling.

‘Death seems to be keeping his distance,’ the Stormcast said, his voice echoing strangely from behind the mask. ‘Maybe he waits for you.’

Krev swung his axe, and the Stormcast deflected it with his sword and brought his hammer round in a smooth arc that missed Krev by a hair’s breadth. The silver-armoured warrior pressed on, and Krev was forced back, step by step, desperately parrying the Stormcast’s blows. He kicked out, his boot catching the Stormcast’s shin. The warrior fell, giving Krev a moment’s reprieve. He circled the Stormcast and hefted his axe.

The silver warrior got back to his feet and spun around. His cloak flared and bolts of magic in the form of shimmering hammers flung themselves at Krev. He battered one away with his axe, but the others struck home, and he grunted in pain. The Stormcast pressed forwards again, and a punishing blow knocked the axe from Krev’s hands. Then he felt pain as the sword sliced into the meat of his leg and forced him to one knee. The Stormcast dropped his hammer, kicked Krev’s axe away and took his sword in both hands.

‘Thus will end all tyrants,’ he intoned, his voice sepulchral. ‘Sigmar decrees–’

He was cut off as a huge beast barrelled into him, knocking the sword from his grip and him to the ground. Krev smiled and pulled himself to his feet.

‘Well done, my pet,’ he said. The flesh hound howled, then bounded off in the direction of more enemies. Krev stooped and picked up the Stormcast’s fallen sword.

‘Sigmar decrees, does he?’ he hissed down at the mud-caked armoured warrior. ‘When you see him, tell him Krev Deathstalker spits on his decrees.’

Click here to buy Call of Chaos Quick Read Collection: Warhammer Age of Sigmar.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

‘The Unending Storm’ previously published in 2015.
‘By the Horns’ previously published in 2015.
‘The Gift of Khorne’ previously published in 2015.
‘Daemon of the Deep’ previously published in 2015.
‘The Last Gift’ previously published in 2015.
‘The Prodigal’ previously published in 2015.
‘The Crystal of Fate’ previously published in 2015.
‘Gorechosen’ previously published in 2015.
‘The Eighth Victory’ previously published in 2015.
‘Godless’ previously published in 2015.
‘The Sacrifice’ previously published in 2015.
‘Lord of the Cosmic Gate’ previously published in 2015.
This eBook edition published in 2015 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

Call of Chaos Quick Read Collection: Warhammer Age of Sigmar © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2015. Call of Chaos Quick Read Collection: Warhammer Age of Sigmar, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, Warhammer, Warhammer Age of Sigmar, Stormcast Eternals, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-78572-389-6

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