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The Spiral Tower – Extract

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The Spiral Tower

Matt Westbrook

‘To fully purge the taint from this gate would take me many hours, perhaps even days,’ said Lord-Relictor Tharros Soulwarden. His voice was strained and hoarse, and nowhere near his usual ornery tone. He sounded exhausted. Lord-Castellant Eldroc knew his friend was on the verge of collapse, and it was only his stubborn will that kept him upright.

‘We cannot use it?’ asked Thostos Bladestorm. The Lord-Celestant’s own voice was tight with pain, though the restorative glow emanating from Eldroc’s warding lantern was slowly knitting together the gruesome wounds upon his chest and head. He had been even closer to death at the hands of the orruk leader, Drekka Breakbones, than the Lord-Castellant had thought.

Out on the plains the greenskins’ hoarse voices still bellowed in maddened rage. The death of their general had sent the dull-witted beasts into a frenzy, and even now they were throwing themselves against the walls and gate of the Manticore Dreadhold.

‘I did not say we could not use it,’ said Tharros, ‘only that it will require my full strength and concentration to keep the gateway open.’

‘We cannot abandon the Dreadhold,’ said Eldroc. ‘Even if we were to pass through the Manticore Realmgate, the orruks would likely follow us. Besides, Sigmar required us to hold this position. Azyr’s armies will pour through this route on their way to the front.’

The front was located in the Realm of Metal, where the next stage of the God-King’s plan called for a full assault on the fortresses known as the Ironholds, which in turn guarded the path to the nexus of arcane travel known as the Allpoints. It was from there that the armies of darkness sallied forth into the Eight Realms.

‘I can hold the fortress,’ said Eldroc. ‘Lord-Celestant, take a small expeditionary force. Make contact with the Knight-Azyros. He can signal for aid in securing the Dreadhold.’

‘I cannot leave the chamber behind,’ said Thostos, glancing back at the fortress wall. The Judicator archers were already loosing arrow after arrow into the ranks of the enemy. They could not see the gatehouse from their position at the rear of the structure, but the fighting there would be thick. The main gate was a twisted wreck, and such a breach would draw the orruks like flies around meat.

‘This is my area of expertise, brother,’ said Eldroc. ‘Trust me, I know how to hold a fortress under siege. I swear to you the Dreadhold will not fall while I stand.’

‘If you could decide what you wish to do quickly, that would be wonderful,’ came the faint voice of Tharros Soulwarden, with a hint of his usual curmudgeonly temper.

Thostos nodded. ‘Twenty men should suit my purpose. Ware the orruks, Lord-Castellant. Without their leader they will be reckless and disorganised, yet their battle-madness will give them strength. They will not relent, not now their blood is up.’

‘I know, Lord-Celestant. This place will hold until your return. Go now.’

Thostos chose the fastest and the most keen-eyed warriors to join the ranks of his war party. Eldroc needed the strongest fighters at his disposal, and in any case the Lord-Celestant was not looking for a fight. The faster they found the Knight-Azyros, the sooner they could bring help to the fortress defenders. As he chose the last of his warriors, word came that the small force he had sent into the mountains had returned. There was Atrin, hobbling along with his crossbow rested over one shoulder. Callan was at his side, supported by several of the Liberator rearguard who were still stationed at the realmgate. The Retributor was a ruin of melted sigmarite and scorched flesh. It was almost incomprehensible that the man had managed to survive long enough to reach the Dreadhold.

‘Oreus fell,’ said the Lord-Celestant. It was not a question.

‘Aye, Lord-Celestant,’ the Judicator replied. ‘Slain by the sorcerer Xos’Phet’s magic. We slew the fiend in turn, as well as the traitor Rusik.’

‘Then you performed your task admirably. There is yet more fighting to be done, and I would have you at my side if you are capable. Let the Lord-Castellant see to your wounds, then report to the realmgate.’

Atrin nodded, and made for the wall, where Eldroc was organising the defence. Behind him, leaning against the rocky outcrop upon which lay the realmgate itself, sat Alzheer, the mortal priestess of the Sky Seekers tribe. Thostos felt a tension loosen as he saw her, and realised with surprise that he had been worried she would not return from the mountain paths.

‘Priestess,’ he said, approaching her. ‘I am glad that you return unharmed. Judicator Atrin tells me that you found the vengeance that you sought.’

She gazed up at him, squinting slightly in the sunlight. Her face was bloody and bruised, and deep cuts ran across her arms, but aside from that she was largely unharmed.

‘I did, Lord Thostos,’ she nodded. She did not seem triumphant, merely tired and somewhat distant. That was understandable. She had lost many of her people over the last few days.

‘I am afraid I can offer you only water and rest, not safety,’ he said. ‘The orruks assault in force, and I must depart on my own mission. We cannot lead you home just yet, priestess.’

‘I can still wield a bow, Lord-Celestant,’ she said, and she hauled herself to her feet, staggering slightly. Thostos stretched out a hand to steady her.

‘You will rest, my lady,’ he said, in a voice that brooked no complaint. ‘And you will let us do the fighting. You have done enough. Fought enough. More than any mortal should be expected to. We are the Celestial Vindicators, Alzheer. We were forged for battles such as this. Let us do our duty, and let yourself heal.’

The fighting at the gatehouse was some of the most vicious that Liberator-Prime Relius had ever known, and he had been a veteran of countless wars even before his Reforging as a Celestial Vindicator.

‘Namuth, keep that shield tight,’ he roared, as the orruks surged forwards once more, clattering against the wall of sigmarite that guarded the tunnel.

The gate itself had been torn off its hinges, and had fallen diagonally to half block the main entrance. The enemy could still slip under the shattered iron, but as more of them fell that was becoming increasingly difficult. Not that the orruks seemed wary of the danger. Even as he glanced over the rim of his shield, Relius saw one of the creatures spitted through the belly on a vicious shard of black iron. Lord-Castellant Eldroc had ordered the tunnel filled with dozens of these wicked spikes, scavenged from the walls of the Dreadhold. The dying orruk was still hacking away with its crude cleaver, seemingly unaware or uncaring of its predicament.

‘Kill,’ Relius shouted, and as one the front rank of Celestial Vindicators brought their shields to the side, stabbing out with longswords or smashing skulls and bones with their heavy warhammers.

‘Hold,’ he yelled, and just as swiftly the unforgiving wall of sigmarite was restored. Dead orruks toppled along the line, joining the barricade of dead that littered the floor. Their fellows behind scrabbled over the corpses of the fallen, hurling themselves at the Stormcasts with maniac howls and whoops of glee.

The Stormcast line was pushed back, no more than an inch or two, under the pressure of the assault. Such margins, Relius knew, could be fatal. This battle would drag on for hours, perhaps even days. They could not afford to lose the bottleneck provided by the gatehouse tunnel. Once the orruks broke out, it was all over.

‘Kill!’ the Liberator-Prime shouted again.

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A Black Library Publication

Published in 2016 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustrations by Jon Cave and Akim Kaliberda.

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ISBN: 978-1-78572-131-1

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