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First Marshal – Extract

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1

Onward! For Hammerhal Aqsha!’ Tahlia Vedra’s shout barely rose above the howl of wind. Probably for the best. Her soldiers were already moving as quickly as they were able. They stumbled across the drifts of ash like elderly duardin, bodies angled against the wind, faces muffled, feet strapped to the wide, latticed sootshoes Tahlia had adapted from tribes of Reclaimed who once called the Ash Wastes home.

Impassible. Impossible. That was what Hammerhal’s Core Conclave had said when Tahlia had come to them. Even Prime Commander Katrik le Guillon had been sceptical. Of course, Tahlia’s oldest friend’s doubts were echoed by that puffed-up Azyrite martinet Wintrath and Hammerhal’s other commanders.

It was Tahlia’s fault, really. She had given them the Castelite doctrine, insight birthed from desperation. Now the Freeguilds seemed to think in nothing but checkerboard formations and firing squares. Tahlia could not blame them. Since the Azyrites had carved Hammerhal from the fire-blackened stones of Aqshy the city had been under near-constant assault. A siege mentality was only natural.

Unfortunately, it was useless against Skaven.

The ratmen cared nothing for walls and fortifications. Since the Vermindoom had brought Blight City crashing into the Realm of Fire, packs of Skaven drifted like embers among Hammerhal’s outer holdings, sparks in search of unwilling tinder. Tahlia had stamped out dozens, only to have more scuttle from the warpstone-polluted waste that had seared across the Great Parch. She could not pin the vermin down, not with Steelhelms, not with great cannons, and not with Castelite squares.

‘Faster, faster. Sigmar, please, let us reach them in time.’ Tahlia’s prayer came muffled by the thick mask that spared her from a lungful of ash. Still, she was glad for the mask, the goggles, the thick cloak, for they kept Tahlia’s soldiers from seeing her anxiety.

The closest were little more than vaguely human-shaped shadows. Bound to Tahlia by a length of cactus-fibre rope, they trudged along as they had these last long days, implacable as cogforts. There was no doubt in their bearing, no apprehension. Tahlia Vedra had never let them down. To the Aqshian soldiers she was more than a marshal, more than an old soldier, more than an up-jumped thief from Cinderfall.

She was Lioness of the Parch.

If only Tahlia drew half as much comfort from the title. Although she did not feel worthy of her soldiers’ devotion, she needed to act like she was.

It was easier on Infernadine. The manticore’s imposing bulk buttressed Tahlia’s conviction, as did the skulls of the four traitors she had spiked atop the Throne Memoriam. But even had the manticore been able to navigate the high winds, Tahlia was not one to fly above the storm while her soldiers suffered below.

She glared at the dunes as if to burn through the drifted ash by anger alone. Sounds were warped by the strange acoustics of the wastes; the battle might have been over the next ridge or miles away. Nerves and exhaustion conspired to whet Tahlia’s anxiety to a razored edge. It had been her idea to dangle Marshal Honem’s convoy like a bit of meat before the jaws of a warhound, just as it had been her plan to sprint across miles of ash in hopes of surprising one of the larger Skaven armies to have spilled from the Gnaw.

Tahlia’s doubts guttered as the crack of fusil shot rose above the wind. The shriek and chitter of dying Skaven brought a smile to her face. The ratmen had taken the bait. Now all that remained was for Tahlia to close the trap. That was, if she could find the thrice-damned battle.

‘Marshal Vedra, look.’ The soldier to her left had to shout to be heard. He raised one shadowy arm, stepping forward. ‘Just over the–’

Then the Freeguilder was gone, swallowed by the bloom of ash at his feet.

Tahlia had no time to brace herself before the rope between them went taut, dragging her towards the funnel of ash that had formed in the already unstable drift. Her sootshoes churned the dusty silt. Hands tight upon the rope, she arched her back, pulling until she felt her shoulders might tear from their sockets.

But the man was heavy. The hole deep.

Legends went that the wastes had once been a forest, bright-leafed fireoak buried by volcanic ash. The trees had died, but they had not fallen. Over millennia, the trunks had disintegrated, leaving cavities below the dunes, nearly invisible sinkholes wide enough to swallow entire squads. Captain Vasyar had offered to have his scouts test the ground ahead, but that would have slowed the column’s advance to a crawl. Despite the danger, Tahlia had opted for speed – a decision that might have just killed her.

She was dragged towards the spreading funnel. A heartbeat and she would be down the sinkhole’s ash-choked gullet.

Tahlia drew her knife, sawing at the rope that bound her to the soldier behind. The wastes might claim Tahlia, but she would not let them take another Freeguild life.

The line parted before Tahlia’s blade, and she lurched towards the hole, only to feel the collar of her cloak draw tight against her throat.

‘You’ll not escape us so easily, Lioness.’ Vasyar’s baritone rumbled in Tahlia’s ears even as she struggled at the edge of the pit.

For a moment, it seemed even the Ash Vipers chieftain’s prodigious strength would not be enough to halt Tahlia’s fall, but other hands joined his, soldiers appearing from the murk as if conjured by sorcery. Together, they dragged up the scout who had first disappeared down the sinkhole. He came coated in a thick layer of silt, hands still tight around the rope. At first, Tahlia thought it a dead man’s grip, until Vasyar gave the scout a solid thump on the back.

He sputtered, body convulsing, then drew in a ragged breath. Together, Tahlia and Vasyar helped the unlucky scout to his feet.

‘You were saying?’ Tahlia fixed him with a level stare. There was no time to catch their breath, let alone to express gratitude.

‘Beyond the eastern ridge,’ the scout managed between coughs. ‘Warplight.’

Tahlia followed his shaky nod, and felt the fist in her gut finally unclench.

‘You’ve done it, marshal.’ Chief Vasyar’s laugh seemed to thrum within Tahlia’s chest.

‘We’ve done it.’ She glanced down the shadowy column of soldiers.

‘Aye, but it won’t be our names in the tavern songs.’ The wry tilt of Vasyar’s head took the sting from his rebuke. ‘Just think of the look on Patriarch Mench’s face when you tell those old dust crabs on the Conclave you marched an entire Freeguild column across the wastes.’

Tahlia drew Parchtongue. The blade’s smouldering edge seemed to burn away her fatigue.

‘Now, all that remains is to dive headlong into a horde of Skaven. Over the ridge and keep low.’ She was moving even as she spoke. Despite their exhaustion, their fears, Tahlia had no doubt her soldiers would follow. They were Freeguild.

She stalked up the ridge. As if confined to the great bowl of the Ash Wastes, the wind seemed to bleed away, the howl that had mocked Tahlia these last long days fading to a petulant whine. It was replaced by the familiar crack of fusil volleys, faint but regular. A heartening sound, as it meant Honem’s gunners were still in good order.

It was as if a fire had been lit inside Tahlia’s chest. The time for march and counter-march was over, the nervous flutter of anticipation that preceded every conflict. Their foe stood before them. All that remained was the brutal arithmetic of battle.

And that, Tahlia understood.

There were too many Skaven, but there were always too many.

Wildercorps had reported a dozen swarms in the vicinity of the convoy, perhaps another handful skulking around the broken hills beyond. Although it had cost Tahlia what little goodwill she had managed to cultivate among the Conclave, she had at last convinced the delegates they must take a lesson from the ratmen, shedding heavy steel for stealth and surprise.

In a practice born of long habit, Tahlia had doubled the number of foes as she and Katrik sketched out the plan’s broad strokes. Marshal Honem’s armoured detachment would serve as the anvil to Tahlia’s hammer; the surprise appearance of a thousand veteran Freeguild soldiers in the ratmen’s rear would lead to confusion and slaughter.

It had seemed a fine plan when Tahlia had laid it before Hammerhal’s high and mighty. Now, after two days’ hard march through some of the most punishing territory Aqshy had to offer, she was less certain. Breath rasping in her throat, she shambled up the drifted ash, the sound of cannon shot dragging her forward.

Tahlia was the first to crest the rise. She skidded to a halt, hands tightening around Parchtongue’s sweat-slicked grip.

There were easily five times more Skaven than she had anticipated, their seething ranks backed by hulking rat ogors and packs of savage warbeasts. Great braziers glittered an ugly green, warpstone-tainted smoke infusing the ratmen with rabid bloodlust. Looking at the massive host surrounding Honem’s circle of fortified cogwagons, Tahlia realised a charge would be like casting a spear into a lava channel.

Above the snarling, screeching tide of vermin rose a horrible ringing. Each dreadful toll sent a pang of uncertainty through Tahlia, her gaze dragged to a rickety, wheeled structure from which hung a truly massive bell. Incised with ruinous glyphs that glittered with warplight, its chittering rider was reduced to little more than a cloaked shadow surrounded by arcs of crackling power.

Vasyar huffed up behind Tahlia, scrubbing a fist across his soot-streaked brow. ‘Blackened blazes, we must have stumbled on an entire warren.’

‘I’ve seen bigger.’ Not quite a lie. Tahlia had seen bigger, just usually from behind the walls of a citadel.

Rather than reply, Vasyar shot an uneasy glance back along the Freeguild column. Although the veterans were too experienced to display any anxiety, they hesitated just behind the ridgeline, no doubt drawing the same conclusion as Tahlia.

Artillery shots rang out, the boom of ordnance almost lost amidst the shrieks of the Skaven horde. Parsimonious as a Cinderfall moneylender, the Ironweld had deigned to grant Honem’s force a bare half-dozen great cannons, citing the need to restock after the Khornate siege of Hammerhal. Even so, Marshal Honem had deployed his cannons well, anchoring the lines of fusiliers arrayed atop the circle of armoured cogwagons. Canister shot carved bloody swathes through the advancing horde. It was like scooping sand from a beach, waves of ratmen filling in the holes before the artillerists could reload. Tahlia knew Honem and his soldiers would hold to the last, but if she did not act soon they would shortly be overwhelmed.

Wincing beneath her mask, she glanced back down the ridge.

‘Do we withdraw, marshal?’ Vasyar’s sour expression spoke volumes regarding how the chieftain felt about abandoning comrades.

Tahlia swallowed, a flush rising up her neck. She could almost hear Katrik’s admonishments. It was the safer decision. Tahlia’s plan had failed. Tahlia had failed. She did not have soldiers enough to turn the tide. Better to cut her losses and vanish back into the Ash Wastes before the Skaven overwhelmed Honem’s lines. Only stubborn pride had kept her from giving the order already. Even Marshal Wintrath would not fault the decision to withdraw.

But Tahlia had never cared what Wintrath thought. She was not about to start now.

‘Firing line!’ Her soldiers were quick to respond to Tahlia’s order, unlimbering oilcloth-wrapped fusils with the cool competence of veterans.

‘Marshal Vedra.’ Vasyar shook his spear. ‘I’m as keen to bloody these beasts as the next Parcher, but we’ve only enough drakefire and shot for a handful of volleys. All we’re like to do is set the fiends tearing after us.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.’ Tahlia shot the former Reclaimed chieftain a thin smile, then nodded back towards the wastes. ‘How long will it take your scouts to mark the closest sinkholes?’

Vasyar sucked air through his teeth, considering. ‘Depends on how many there are, and how long until we’ve got a swarm of ratmen breathing warpflame down our necks.’

Tahlia cast an appraising look at the circle of cogwagons, then at the smoke-swaddled sun high overhead. ‘I can give you ten minutes.’

‘It’ll have to do.’ Vasyar grinned, firelight glittering from the obsidian speaking runes in his teeth. Not bothering to salute, he jogged back down the hill.

Tahlia turned to her veterans. She had only a thousand soldiers, no artillery, cavalry or arcane support.

But the Skaven did not know that.

Tahlia raised Parchtongue. A thousand fusils came up at her back. It was a heady feeling, the almost godlike power as Tahlia unleashed death upon the enemies of Hammerhal Aqsha. She could feel Parchtongue’s warmth against her cheek. Like a shard of Aqshy given form, the sword’s fire burned away Tahlia’s doubts. Now was not the time for second thoughts. The Skaven had dared to set their filthy paws upon the Realm of Fire. And for that they would burn.

Parchtongue blazed furnace-bright, white-hot flame stark against the unnatural glow of Skaven weapons. The burst of light was echoed by the crack of fusils. A few heartbeats later, another volley rang out, then another, as the Freeguilders’ staggered firing line kept up the deadly rhythm, regular as cogwork.

Ratmen fell like scythed bracken, not even aware of the shot that had killed them. A better death than they deserved, but Tahlia was not picky.

Although there were but a thousand Freeguild soldiers on the ridge, it might as well have been an army, so efficiently did their salvoes savage the horde below. Never one to overlook an opportunity, Marshal Honem’s forces increased their rate of fire, the thunder of cannons resonating deep within Tahlia’s chest.

It was not enough, but it did not need to be.

She let her soldiers unleash four volleys, then signalled a pause, waving Parchtongue as if to call up her own artillery. Below, the Skaven swarm turned back on itself. A ravenous beast harried on multiple sides, it was unable to decide on whom to maul first.

A pillar of sputtering warpflame rose from the bell, forming into a jagged sigil as it boiled away the pall of smoke.

‘Down!’ Tahlia’s command set her soldiers scrambling for cover as the great, baleful symbol of the Horned Rat turned its brutal attentions upon them.

Green flame scoured the ridgeline. Although protected by the rocky outcrops, the Freeguilders lacked their normal shields and heavy armour. A rush of heat snatched the breath from Tahlia’s lungs. Fiery waves immolated several squads, their skeletons backlit by coruscating fire. Furious, Tahlia swiped Parchtongue at the hideous blaze as if to cut the warpflame from the air.

‘Down that blasted bell!’ Tahlia had to shout the order several times before the soldiers rose from cover.

They opened fire, not a reaping volley, but a steady shower aimed at the Skaven’s hideous bell. Individually, the shots were little more than a nuisance, but fire ants could bring down even a manticore. Tahlia let out a held breath as the bell canted to one side. Rotten wood and lashings gave way, and the bell tumbled with a brazen clatter, spewing flames across the nearest ratmen.

Even as its closest followers twisted amidst the tainted fire, the Skaven warlock leapt free of its burning bell, pausing to unleash a spray of bilious devastation upon any of its followers who sought to flee the destruction.

With a chittering shriek, the warlock pointed a gnarled claw at the rise. Almost as one, the Skaven army turned from the embattled circle of wagons, all but crawling over one another in their haste to reach the ridge.

Jaw tight, Tahlia glanced to the sun. Not quite ten minutes, but battlefield measurement had never been a precise art.

She let the Skaven climb halfway up the ridge before ordering the retreat. It was not enough for the ratmen to know Tahlia fled. Like a rabid hound, they must also be allowed to see their prey run.

A squealing cry went up from the swarm as the Freeguild line withdrew. Even in retreat, Tahlia felt a swell of pride seeing how calmly her soldiers descended the ridgeline. If not for the howling horde at their heels, one could have mistaken the withdrawal for a parade ground drill.

Below, a very harried-looking Vasyar stood atop an ash dune, gesturing with his spear like a man possessed. Tahlia made for the Wildercorps captain, weathering his curses as she mounted the dune.

‘Ten minutes? That was barely five or I’m a blisterbeetle.’

Tahlia’s mask hid her smile. ‘But you found the sinkholes.’

‘Of course we found the holes.’ The chieftain ran a hand through his dark curly hair. ‘But I’d appreciate a moment to pace them out.’

‘We’ll… adapt,’ Tahlia replied between panting breaths.

‘To think I’d live long enough to be lectured on adaptation by a city-dweller.’ Rolling his eyes, Vasyar signalled to the other scouts to lead Tahlia’s soldiers through the safe patches of ash. They had just formed up in a ragged battle line when the Skaven crested the ridge.

Hefting Parchtongue, Tahlia grinned at Vasyar. ‘Let’s exterminate some vermin.’

The fastest Skaven were the first to fall. Without sootshoes, they stumbled upon the drifted ash, many crushed by their fellows as they writhed amidst the silt. Those behind cleared the fallen only to trip headlong into the first of the sinkholes.

It was too much to hope the warlock would meet a similar fate. Tahlia cursed as she saw the creature pause just below the lip of the rise to regard the field with canny eyes. It shouted something at a nearby company of armoured vermin. They hesitated, only to be driven forward when a snarl of warp lightning leapt from the sorcerer’s staff.

Unlike the regular Skaven filth, these wore heavy kit. Towering above their verminous fellows, they advanced down the slope in close order. The initial Skaven charge had laid bare the sinkholes, so it was easy for the formation of ratmen to avoid the pits.

Those few shots that rang out from the Freeguild line were eclipsed by the crackle of Skaven guns. Several weapons teams hunkered atop the rise. Warpshot buzzed by Tahlia’s head. She hunched, only to see the soldier to her left crumple as bullets tore through his chest.

‘Forward!’ Tahlia raised Parchtongue, slogging forward on her sootshoes. Although the Stormvermin were dangerous, the melee would shield her soldiers from fire on the ridge.

Tahlia swayed around the swipe of a Skaven polearm, Parchtongue searing through the ratman’s shield and the arm behind it. Greasy fur ignited like oil-soaked rags, and the vermin fell back, shrieking.

The brutal clatter of steel filled Tahlia’s ears as her soldiers crashed into the Skaven formation. Although lacking shields and heavy armour, Tahlia’s veterans were no strangers to close combat, and set to with a will, their strikes workmanlike as they hacked at the foe.

A dark-armoured Skaven shouldered through the milling ranks, the other Stormvermin scrambling to clear a path. Easily a head taller than its comrades, the chieftain clutched a pair of warpstone blades, its snarling hatred illuminated by their nauseous glow.

Tahlia met the charge, Parchtongue held before her like a spear. The Skaven chief’s swords came quick as firelight, slashing down in a tight arc aimed at Tahlia’s throat. She parried the first, letting the force of the blow drive her from the path of the second. Although hampered by her bulky sootshoes, Tahlia’s footing was surer than her opponent’s. The chieftain snarled as its lunge left it knee-deep in soot.

Tahlia seized on the distraction, launching a feint at the Skaven’s head. The chieftain tried to hook Parchtongue with its jagged blades, only to have Tahlia drive a kick into its stomach. The blow hammered a high screech from her opponent. It cut at Tahlia’s leg, but she was already fading back, retreat hampered by the broken sootshoe lashed to her boot. Even so, Parchtongue was longer than the chieftain’s blades, an advantage Tahlia took full advantage of as she unleashed a series of harassing cuts.

The Skaven chieftain gave a squealing snarl. Propelled by sheer fury, it leapt from the knee-deep ash. Tahlia gave ground before the sudden onslaught, but her ruined sootshoe caught in the silt, sending her stumbling back.

The chieftain was on her in a heartbeat. Twin blades arced down only to meet Parchtongue. The Skaven’s bulk pressed Tahlia into the silt, ash curling over her limbs and chest. She sought to lift her head from the choking soot, but the chieftain bore down, its yellowed fangs gleaming like molten bronze in Tahlia’s receding vision.

Ash closed over Tahlia’s head, and she squeezed her eye shut. Although the mask kept the soot from choking her, it did nothing to help her breathe. She tried to shift beneath the chieftain, but the Skaven might as well have been cast from iron. Tahlia’s arms trembled to hold back the warpstone blades. Although she could no longer see them, she could feel the razored points edge closer to her chest.

Bright sparks flickered behind Tahlia’s vision, streaking across the dark void her missing eye had carved from her sight. Her lungs burned, her limbs felt useless as rusty cogwork. Dimly, Tahlia wondered if she would asphyxiate before the chieftain hacked her to ribbons.

She could not hold the warpstone blades back much longer. So she did not try.

With a muffled grunt, she twisted Parchtongue free of the blades. Although they pierced the reinforced leather of Tahlia’s breastplate, there was no speed behind the strikes, tips digging into her chest as the chieftain bore down.

Pain blossomed along her shoulders and ribs. Agonised tendrils curled down her spine. She would have screamed had she possessed the breath. Every muscle tight, Tahlia wrapped her free arm around the chieftain, then thrust Parchtongue into the creature’s side.

Although the pain did not lessen, the pressure did. Enough for Tahlia to raise her head from the ash and gasp in a ragged breath. The chieftain convulsed as Tahlia worked Parchtongue deeper into its chest. Fire licked from the Skaven’s open maw. The chieftain’s fur ignited, the profane sigils carved into its armour flaring like embers as they crackled and went dark.

Now, Tahlia screamed, the sound lending strength to her arms as she gave Parchtongue a final, vicious twist and thrust the chieftain away. Still burning, the Skaven’s corpse tumbled down the dune, disappearing into the hole at its base.

Gasping, Tahlia pushed unsteadily to her feet. Blood trickled from the wounds on her shoulders. It pooled at the bottom of her breastplate and soaked her breeches. She blinked back stinging tears, her surroundings coming into rough focus.

Witnessing the death of their chieftain, the Stormvermin hesitated.

Atop the ridge, the sorcerer screeched and howled, its cadaverous form limned by gathering warpflame. It raised a clawed hand, only to stumble and cry out, clutching at the blade that suddenly jutted from its narrow back. Ruinous energy guttered and died as the sorcerer was stabbed again, and again.

Amidst the smoke and chaos, Tahlia could not pick out the Skaven who wielded the killing blade. But that, she supposed, was the point.

The fall of their leader seemed to snatch the backbone from the horde. Skaven scattered across the dunes. Tahlia’s veterans advanced up the slope to herd the terrified ratmen over the rise and back into Marshal Honem’s killing field. Rat ogors and larger abominations foundered in the silt, their massive bulk causing them to sink. Even a line of fusilier recruits could not have failed to down the beasts, but as Tahlia was out of powder she would need to content herself with seeing the vermin cut to ribbons.

She took a staggering step towards the fight, only to lose her grip on Parchtongue. Bending to retrieve the blade set Tahlia’s head swimming, and she was forced to sit upon the dune, the air seeming too thin to fill her lungs.

Shadows loomed in Tahlia’s vision. She sought to raise Parchtongue, but the blade felt as heavy as Ghal Maraz. Someone was shouting at her. The words slid along the edge of hearing, eclipsed by a high howl that filled Tahlia’s ears. Must be that damnable wind again.

She should never have come to the Ash Wastes.

A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2026.
This eBook edition published in 2026 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Represented by: Games Workshop Limited – Irish branch, Unit 3, Lower Liffey Street, Dublin 1, D01 K199, Ireland.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Anna Lakisova.

First Marshal © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2026. First Marshal, 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.
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ISBN: 978-1-83609-418-0

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