First Marshal - Helsmiths of Hashut first appearance in a Novel

Chaos Dwarf Discussion
1

So, a few months ago, I got my hands on the Tahlia Vedra Novel First Marshal. I had made a handful of notes while reading it and shared those notes on the Discord server to help others get an idea if the book has enough Helsmiths action and spotlight to justify getting it or not.

But… I really should’ve posted those here as well, which is my bad.
And, at the encouragement and idea of Chitzkoi, I’ll be attempting to be more active on here with a “AoS Lore Archive Thread” thingy! Since I yap enough about the Helsmiths on the discord server, I might as well do it here as well.

Anyhow, enough of my blabbering on, time to get onto the book. First with some simple thoughts and immediate answers. (Fyi, obvious spoiler warning for the book ahead, especially later on in this post)

Does the Book have pages and/or chapters from the perspective and POV of the Zharrdron? No.

Does the book provide in depth expansions to the Helsmiths Lore? Not really. Now this depends on what you define as ‘in depth’ but I’d say the book doesn’t tell us a massive amount of stuff the battletome hasn’t already told us. There are things that aren’t explicitly told in the battletome present in this book, with a handful of interesting implications here and there that made me nod my head and go ‘Huh, neat’, but nothing massive.

My thoughts, likely biased, on the Helsmiths presence within the book? Good enough. I certainly enjoyed the scenes where the Helsmiths appeared, I say we did our role well in the book. But that’s the thing, we had a clear role in this book. That as the antagonists. An opposing force. A threat. We’re not the star element of the book, we’re a direct threat to the protagonist that she faces alongside the more subtle and indirect threats she must handle at the same time. We’re damn good villains, in my opinion, but we’re not as personal enemies to Tahlia as Mausolus Ebonpyre was in the first novel. In the end, it’s a cities of sigmar book, and thus Tahlia triumphs against the Zharrdron character who’s representing the Helsmiths at large in this novel.
This book has made me excited and antsy for a Real Helsmiths Novel. This book was us stepping our armored foot into the novel scene. It has enough to wet our pallete, to see a glimpse inside the Ziggurats and a glance at the Zharrdron’s deeper ideologies, but it isn’t enough to quench our thirst.

Is this book worth it, if you solely want it for the Helsmiths of Hashut aspect of it? 50/50. I’d say yes but I know my answer is biased. If you want to see any look into the Helsmiths, such as seeing how they operate in a siege being an example, then I’d say it might just be worth it. Enphasis on might though.

Now, onto the actual notes I made while reading the book! Most of these are focused on the Helsmiths, with one or two exceptions. Editing this post to add the quotes now. So that these ‘quotes’ aren’t dozens upon dozens of pages worth of stuff, I’ll be putting - - - - - in any spot where things have been skipped to focus on other details. These quotes are meant to focus on the glory of the Zharrdron, not the squabbles of lesser manlings .
:cd2025:
These notes are ordered by what page into the book they appear, so I’ll leave a footnote next to each note that isn’t about the Helsmiths.

Manticore Boop The Snoot (page 23) [1]

Tahlia and Katrik discuss the Helsmiths (page 36)

‘Wildercorps scouts found a circle of destruction - ground blackened, trees reduced to ash, the whole field saturated with the daemonic energies.’
Two regiments, gone like windblown embers. Tahlia clenched her fists. From the reports she had read, such devastation was common practice for the Helsmiths.
‘And there were no survivors?’
‘There weren’t even bodies.’ Katrix Squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Just mounds of melted slag and charred bone.’

Ghyra Regant Chamber discuss the Helsmiths of Hashut (pages 93-97)

‘The destruction was total.’ The Wildercorps commander was a long-faced man with the sombre aspect of a mortuary attendant. ‘A whole swathe of forest burnt down to the roots. Sorceries have poisoned the soil. Nothing but ash. Little grows, even now.’

‘I have rarely crossed paths with the Helsmiths, but those times I have left quite an impression.’
Mention of their corrupt kin drew angry mutters from duardin below. Tahlia would have to choose her next words carefully.
Not sure whether to address the tiers above or below, she settled for walking the length of the platform. ‘Battlefields devoid of life, scoured down to the very bedrock. The Helsmiths craft vicious engines of destruction powered by bound daemons, their armies supported by artillery and war machines that can cleave the very ground.’

From what she knew of the Helsmiths, they did not attack with anything less than overwhelming force. Their campaigns were brutal, grinding affairs that could last decades. If the chaos-tainted duardin had annihilated Vidurn’s command, it was but the first assault. Marshal Galain’s decisive response was not wholly out of the question. Helsmiths were masters of siege warfare who would only grow in strength the longer they were allowed to prepare. And yet, something held Tahlia back.

‘I know neither the enemy’s strength, nor their ultimate goal’; She said at last. ‘What I do know is that it is not wise to confront a Helsmith host on a field of their choosing.’

‘The Helsmiths are many things. Powerful. Cruel. Efficient.’ She shouted to be heard over the noise. ‘They are not circumspect.’
Nadian raised a hand for silence.
‘All the stories I’ve heard, the battle reports I’ve read. Not one made mention of ambush.’ Tahlia forged doggedly ahead. ‘You all know I bore little love for Vidurn, but even I don’t believe he was foolish enough to blunder into a Helsmiths army.’

First Encounter with the Helsmiths (pages 109-113)

They heard the Helsmiths long before they saw them. At a distance, the noise was almost reminiscent of Hammerhal Aqsha. It was as if someone held a dark mirror to her home, the vibrant clatter of Aqshian industry turned not to creation but destruction.
Infernadine gave a low yowl, pawing at an ear as if to claw away the vicious cacophony. From the tight faces and bared teeth among the closest Freeguild ranks, Tahlia could tell her soldiers were similarly affected.

‘Machinery, marshal,’ he responded grimly. ‘They’re chewing up the forests, although to what end, no one can fathom.’
‘And the force itself?’
‘Can’t get a good count with all the smoke, but there are at least a few regiments worth of the black-bearded beasts, and a mess of hobgrots,’ he said.

Althought their foe had carved a path wide enough for the Free-guild army to fully deploy, Tahlia kept the individual firing lines separate. The Helsmiths were renowned for their daemonic artillery. A tight formation would be an invitation for them to unleash their worst.

It would have been too much to hope for the enemy to not notice a Freeguild army tromping towards them. So Tahlia was not surprised when the first Helsmith ordnance arced through the air. The rockets burned an angry red, shot through with veins of purple like corruption spreading from an infected wound. They left dark trails in their wake. Heavy, black smoke stained the sky like spilled ink. Soldiers were flung into the air, those around showered with stone and burning vegetation. The lucky ones were immolated on impact. Tahlia saw others ignite with daemonic energy, armour turning to slag as they convulsed and writhed. Others seemed to go mad. Driven by agony or corrupt sorcery, they flailed at their former comrades, spitting vile sparks.

Tahlia could make out little amidst the choking haze, but here and there she caught the flash of bronze, the glitter of profane runes, the angry glow of daemon-fulled machinery.

It was as if they marched into a curtain of midnight. The smoke coiled about them, harsh and smothering, lit only by the flash of Helsmith bombards.
The hobgrots came in a soot-streaked wave. Blades and armour blackened by the brutal fires of Helsmith industry, they howled like damned souls as they charged. Iron picks punctured heavy shields, nothced blades flicking out like serpent tongues as they sought even the smallest gaps in Freeguild plate.

Tahlia had little fear the Verdians would buckle beneatht the hobgrot assault. Of greater concern was the Helsmith artillery. Corrupt ordnance fell like rain, destroying hobgrot and Freeguild soldier alike. As if aware of their masters’ callous aim, the assault slackened.

Dark clouds eddied around Tahlia, the smoke parting to reveal a mass of armoured Helsmiths. A glance was enough for Tahlia to recognise a firing line. Before the first row raised their wide-muzzled guns, Tahlia was already calling for the cavalry to pull back. Infernadine leaped into the air. Great plumes of smoke billowed about his wings as he sought the safety of the Freeguild lines.
The scarabs were not so quick.

The ugly boom of Helsmith blunderbusses split the air. Scarabs fell in a hail of burning scrap. Tahlia watched one limp away on four legs, its bloodied rider dangling limp from the saddle.

Again came the Helsmith guns. This time, deat fell upon the Freeguild lines. Although the tained duardin’s weapons lacked the range of Freeguild fusils, they made up for that in sheer power. Even at distance, heavy shields buckled beneath the onslaught, soldiers reeling back with arms and ribs shattered by the sheer force of the hits. Lice vicious cogwork, the rear line of Helsmith gunners advanced past the first two. Closer, the brutal blunderbusses would not be so easily turned aside.

Runes sparked as Freeguild shot glanced from armoured plates and horned helms. For all their corruption, the Helsmiths were duardin, their equipment the equal of anything crafted by mortal hand. Still, while it might be proof against a single shot, or even a dozen, Tahlia unleashed thousands.
Helsmiths stumbled and rose again, only to be battered to the ground once more. Some returned fire, but it was a repid, scattered thing.

Tahlia saw several of the Helsmiths attempting to urge a mass of hobgrots back into the fray, but the lanky creatures scattered into the brush, jeering at their supposed allies.
The fighting devolved into scattered pockets as Helsmiths took shelter behind their infernal machines. Greay drills and grinding claws churned the earth. Some sought to break through the Freeguild lines, others to escape into the forest. But their heavy-tracked bombards and rocket batteries were unwieldly amidst the undergrowth.
Tahlia waved Parchtonge, ordering fresh detachments after the fleeing Helsmiths. Druids summoned hedges and great tangles of grasping roots to bog down the escaping duardin. Huge mantids picked through the trees. At such close range, even light cannons could crack warded steel, and one by one, the enemy war machines were rendered to smoking ruin.
Gradually, the sounds of fire slackened. Tahlia’s lungs ached from breathing the harsh smoke, her throat raw, her eyes stinging. Even so, she managed a raw whoop as the last of the Helsmith machines detonated in a swirl of daemonic flames.

Dead Helsmiths burned (page 119)

There were dead to gather. Verdians were buried so that their bodies might return to the Realm of life, Silverspines laid out on tall scaffolds for birds and other creatures of the sky to pick clean. The few Parchers among the dead were burnt. Thalia ordered the Helsmiths burnt as well. But where Parchers would set upon great pyres, armour and weapons laid out like the heroes of old, the enemy dead were piled like refuse, douses in quicklime, and set alight. Although the druids who remained assured it would release no foul energies, the Helsmiths burned with an ugly bruised flame, dark sparks fluttering up like flecks of shattered obsidian.

Remains of Cogfort, taken over by Helsmiths (pages 124-125)

The Spear of Autumn could not have lain there for more than a month, but it looked like the relic of a bygone age. Vines and creepers had infiltrated the fallen fortress. Great rents marred the sides, the layers of warded plating bent as if by temendous force. At first, Tahlia thought it the work of Helsmith artillery, but as she and Kynaleth drew closer, it became clear the explosions had come from inside the cogfort.
The interior was honecombed with ladders and corridors that allowed the crew to operate the fortress’ weapons. Sorcerous runes still flickered on the interior walls, bathing the canted passageways in sickly light. Little remained of the crew beyond the occasional skeleton, bones picked clean by Ghyra’s industrious scavengers.
The remains bore signs of traumatic death. Skulls were caved in, limbs snipped from bodies, ribcages blackened as if by sudden, terrible heat.
The engine room door stood ajar. Little more then a claw of ragged metal, it bore the scars of drakefire. There were more bones inside. Piled around the remains of the massive Valiti Engine, they had been reduced almost to ash by the force of the explosion that had torn through the cogfort’s interior.
‘The crew forced their way inside to destroy their own cogfort’s engine?’ Tahlia stared at the destruction, wide-eyed.
‘If it was their cogfort,’ Kynaleth said.
Realisation prickled between Tahlia’s shoulder blades. The scattered remains suddenly seemed to snap into shar focus.
‘Impossible.’ Even as she gave voice to the denail, Tahlia knew it to be false. The corrupt duardin were an ancient people, one that possessed dark magic of which Sigmarite sorcerers could only dream. Masters of arcane machinery, if any could divine how to steal a cogfort from its makers, it was the Helsmiths of Hashut. At last, the slaughter of Marshal Vidurn’s army made terrible sense.

If the Helsmiths could turn the Sigmarites cogforts against them, then the other arcane defences surrounding Thornreach may be similarly compromised. Galain faced not only the Helsmiths, but the city itself.

Thornreach attack (pages 128-133)

The morning light revealed a horizon full of smoke. Tahlia recognised the grey haze of fingerbite and the infected yellow of Helsmith artillery smoke. Flashes lit the angry clouds like lightning from an approaching thunderhead.

Thornreach was a bristling shadow in the gloom. Amidst the smoke, Tahlia could see great rents in the fortress barbed walls, entire sections of the massive hedge reduced to sulphurous ash. Galain had bragged that the living fortress was virtually immune to such damage, the power of Thornreach’s geomantic locus causing the massive brambles to regrow faster than any bombardment could destroy them. High, spined towers pierced the haze, their breastworks and embrasures terrifyingly silent. Great cannons hung loose in their mountings, Luminarks dark and still. Dangling below were the bodies of their mortal crews, pierced upon the very barbs that were meant to protect them.
Thornreach’s cogforts had gone feral. Tahlia watched helpless as an articulated tower of burnished oak rampaged through a Castelite square, crushing soldiers beneath a mass of milling treads. Another cogfort lay on its side, bleeding smoke from a dozen cannon holes. Cavalry swirled around yet another shaped like a giant harvester spider. They hacked at its legs even as the cogfort mauled the attackers with the brutal claws and weighted chains dangling from its underside.
This alone would have been enough to chill Tahlia’s heart, but the Helsmiths had drawn up on a nearby ridge, ranks of sneering gunners raking the Sigmarite line with daemonic shot. Behind, two score of the enemy’s artillery fired indiscriminately into the melee.
Abruptly, a massive tree-like cogfort zagged towards the Helsmiths line, unleashing tornados of razored vines. The Helsmiths were quick to turn their fire upon the rogue cogfort. Great explosions rocked the tree, silver running like water as the daemonic energies savaged its branches. Slowly, it canted to one side, the great steel trunk seeming to fold in on itself as the cogfort toppled.
Tahlia had worried the Helsmiths had seized control of Thornreach’s arcane defences, but it appeared their corrupt runecraft had only driven the cogforts mad. Cold comfort indeed.

Sorcerous sigils glimmered among the snarled hedges, the green-gold of Hyshian sorceries replaced by the bruised glow of corrupted runecraft. Branches slithered like hungry snakes, eager to pierce and tear any who drew too close. The Helsmiths may have driven the defences mad, but with Thornreach’s geomantic locus intact, they were no less powerful.

So focused was Tahlia on the geomantic locus, she did not notice the brazen glimmer on her blind side. Tahlia had but an eyeblink to brace herself as a bulky shadow arrowed from the left, hammering into Infernadine with the force of a steam tank.
The manticore folded around the assault, claws shrieking on bronze even as the attacker bore them towards the ground. A sharp horn pierced the back of the Throne Memoriam, and would have impaled Tahlia had she not twisted aside at the last moment.

Twenty paces away, Infernadine clawd and snapped at a massive winged bull of rune-etched bronze. The manticore drove his scorpion tail into the bull’s shoulder, only to have the stinger glance off.

But brazen beasts and wild sorcery were not the only things standing between Tahlia and the city’s heart.
A row of terrible creatures stood backlit by the Locus’ pulsing glow. Half again as tall as Tahlia, they were a mix of beast and duardin. Their upper bodies were that of msucular duardin, broad chests criss-crossed with spiky bondoliers, the tight ringlets of their beards woven with runic charms. Below their armoured torsos stretched the body of a bull. They regarded Tahlia hungrily, hooves striking sparks from the flinty soil.
The lead bull centaur shouted something in the Helsmiths’ hard-edged tongue, his exhortation accompanied by a cloud of sparks and brimstone. Tahlia did not need to speka their language to understand the beast’s deadly intent.
They charged in a rough line, axes gripped in knobby fists, hard features stretched into grins of near ecstatic glee as they pounded across the vine-choked courtyard.
Wisdom told Tahlia to give ground. Instinct told her to charge. Vines tugged at Tahlia’s boots as she sprinted across the root-choked cobbles. The centaurs’ prodigious weight meant they could not easily check the momentum of their headlong charge.
With a grunt of effort, she sent Warmaker spinning towards the legs of the lead bull centaur. Axe raised, it could do little to deflect the mace. The centaur went down in a tangle of flailing limbs. The other beasts turned, too slow, as Tahlia leapt over the fallen centaur. She could hear them behind her, the thud of hooves punctuated by sulphurous exhalations. It took time for the beasts to turn, yes, but Tahlia could never hope to outrun the centaurs.

Bulky shadows filled her vision, resolving into a jumble of furious, bearded faces. One centaur raised its axe, only to have it grabbed by another. They struggled for a moment, shouting and snorting, then the axe was tossed away.
The victor turned on Tahlia. She could do little but gasp as it scowled down at her, eyes like furnace coals beneath dark brows.
Over the ringing in her ears, Tahlia thought she heard the beat of Infernadine’s wings. A familiar shadow passed over her, the manticore’s furious yowl echoing through the overgrown courtyard.
Good. At least one of them might make it out.
Weakly, Tahlia turned her head, fingers twitching towards where Parchtongue lay amidst the now-stilled vines.
The bull centaur followed her gaze. It said something to its comrades. Their mirth was like the rattle of coal in a steam boiler.
‘Give me a moment to catch my breath,’ Tahlia said weakly. ‘Then we’ll see who’s laughing.’
The centaur snorted. Stamped. Almost casually, it raised a hoof.
‘Afraid of a little scrap?’ Tahlia asked between panting breaths. ‘And here I thought you lads were tough.’
By way of reply, the bull centaur stomped on her head.

Tahlia arrival to Galek Zharr (pages 135-142)

Helsmiths Cell (page 143)

Tahlia escaping the cell, sneaking through abandoned mines, crucible where daemons are bound and the ritual chamber (pages 151-157)

The ritual and Tahlia’s escape (pages 159-165)

Outskirts of Galek Zharr (pages 167-171)

Tahlia and Katrik are adorable (page 177) [2]

Helsmiths march to Hammerhal Ghyra (pages 205-206)

Helsmiths prepare their siege weapons (page 212)

Helsmiths slowly sieging Hammerhal Ghyra (page 213)

Helsmiths siege continues (pages 217-220)

Tahlia, Stormcast and Beetle Cavalry attack Helsmiths camp and battle large Helsmiths construct (pages 223-232)

Helsmiths turn their siege engines into bridges (page 238)

Brief comment on Helsmiths artillery (page 244)

Inferno Engine, constructs and fleeing grots (pages 246-248)

Helsmiths in open field and Daemonsmith destroying stormcast (pages 251-253)

Tahlia and Infernadine against Sarukh and his Infernal Taurus (pages 257-266)

Battle ends (pages 267-270)

Tahlia and Katrik O-O (pages 296-297) [3]

  1. I found this scene cute, so I made a note of it in case I ever wanted to re-read it again or showcase it with others. ↩︎

  2. A brief scene I, once again, found quite cute and endearing. Tahlia returning to Hammerhal Ghyra after being trapped in a Zharrdron Ziggurat, Katrik Le Guillion being overjoyed… after causing a ‘small’ military occupation of Ghyra when she heard Tahlia was gone. ↩︎

  3. In the first Novel, Lioness of The Parch, I had suspicions there was a deeper relationship between Tahlia and Katrik beyond ‘life long friends’. To see it confirmed felt like sweet, sweet vindication. ↩︎

7 Likes
2

I’ll probably, likely tomorrow, re-try getting a few quotes from the book and adding them directly to the post in an edit or as a reply comment beneath it.

4 Likes
3

Okay, so, my message now has too many characters to add any more quotes. Any other quotes will have to be added as a reply.

Tahlia arrival to Galek Zharr (pages 135-142)

Firelight. Sulphur, brimstone, and hot steel. The sound of distant forges echoed by strange, unearthly shrieks. Tahlia had a moment to take in her surroundings, bronze statues and square stone pillars seeming to blur in the light of a dozen smoky braziers.
Then the pain came.
Gingerly, Tahlia raised a hand to probe her skull, blessedly unshattered, though it felt fit to burst. Someone had dressed her wounds and bound her hands with braided leather. They had also stripped her of armour and weapons.
She did her best to roll over slowly, scanning the surroundings for something that could be used as a weapon. There were a wealth of choices. From the worked brazier stands, to the gem-encrusted banner poles that lined the columned hall, to the ornamented yet functional-looking halberds cluthced in the gauntleted hands of the statues that flanked the stone bier on which Tahlia lay.
She heard voices. Strange shadows moved upon the far wall, squat and sharp-edged, their heads grossly exaggerated by some manner of ornate helmet. Tahlia slipped one leg off the bier, then the other, testing that they would bear her weight before attempting to stand. One arm pressed to her ribs, she limped to the nearest statue and grasped the halberd, intending to slip it from the armoured grip and use the blade to cut her bonds.
The statue slapped Tahlia’s hands away.
Tahlia would have fallen had not another of the bronze-armoured guards stepped forward to steady her. Its gauntleted fingers dug into Tahlia’s bicep, grip painful as it dragged her back onto the brier. A moment, and the guards had resumed their motionless vigil, not even a flicker of breath visible beneath their articulated plate.
‘You are awake.’ Someone spoke behind Tahlia. Although the voice was rough, the words were clearly enunciated, as if the speaker were practising for a public address.
Tahlia turned to see an elegantly robed Helsmith flanked by half a dozen kneeling servants. He was taller than the guards, although that was mostly owing to the truly elaborate helmet perched upon his carefully coiffed hair. His beard was tightly coiled, each ringlet capped by a charm of polished gold. Long fangs jutted from his lower jaw, their tips adorned with flecks of amber and agate. Although he wore a worked breastplate and dagger, the armour seemed purely ceremonial, gold filigree echoed by the careful embroidery on his silk robe. In one hand, he bore a jewelled staff, the other was clenched into a tight fist. Although it gleamed like buffed marble, the polish only served to draw attention to the fact the Helsmiths hand was hard stone.
He approached, staff tapping on the tile. ‘You may address me as Lord Sarukh Soulburn, Bearer of the Whelming Chalice, Wearer of the Crown of Souls, Eightfold Binder of the Prime Ascension. Forger of Chains, Breaker of Wills, Lord of Spire and Deeps, Foremost Daemonsmith of Ziggurat Galek Zharr.’
Tahlia spat at his feet. A feeble attempt, given her current state, but it got the point across.
Sarukh’s smile set the gems in his fangs winking evilly in the firelight. ‘A rough ore indeed, but one must expect impurities from sub-standard material.’ He took a step forward, looking her up and down like a Rifmarket merchant inspecting a purchase. ‘Still, I foresee great things - once you have been properly annealed, of course.’
This provoked a flutter of agreement from the kneeling attendants. Although they spoke in the sharp Helsmith tongue, Tahlia could well understand their meaning. She had witnessed such fawning obeisance often enough in the courts of Hammerhal. Sarukh could have told his followers that day was night and they would have happily agreed.
‘Your injuries.’ He stepped up to grab her arm.
Tahlia tensed, only to grudgingly relax as the nearest guard stepped forward, halberd levelled at her throat.
After inspecting the bandages with a practised eye, Sarukh clucked his tongue. ‘Disappointing, but predictable. One must not expect durability from the work of a lesser god.’
He muttered a few ugly cants, bilious smoke leaking from his mouth. A jolt of energy slithered up Tahlia’s arm, spreading through her body like an infection. She gritted her teeth against the discomfort, holding Sarukh’s gaze, unwilling to give the Daemonsmith the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
After a moment, he released her arm. ‘Compared to the complexities of daemoncraft, flesh is not so difficult.’
Tahlia glared at him, unwilling to acknowledge she felt better than she had in days. ‘If you think a few parlour tricks will overawe me, you are sorely mistaken.’
‘You think my aim is to impress you?’ His laugh echoed like cannon shot. ‘I couldn’t care less what you think, what you believe, what you want.’
‘Then why take me prisoner?’ Tahlia asked.
‘As if I would reveal my plans to a grunting beast.’ He leaned in, voice dripping with condenscension. ‘Even if I did, you lack the wit to understand them.’
‘Try me,’ Tahlia growled.
Sarukh cocked his head, a flicker of genuine interest animating his cruel features. ‘Oh, yes. You will make a fine alloy. But first, preparations must be made.’
‘You will have nothing from me,’ Tahlia replied coldly,
‘I will have everything.’ His eyes widened. For the briefest instance, Tahlia glimpsed the fires of madness burning behind the Daemonsmith’s carefully cultivated exterior. Clearly, the display was intended to frighten her, so Tahlia feigned weakness, letting her shoulders slump.
The flicker of doubt seemed to excite Sarukh, distracting the Daemonsmith long enough for Tahlia to palm the small dagger at his belt. She considered stabbing him, or perhaps cutting her own throat. Ultimately, she knew too little of the Helsmiths’ power to risk either, so she settled for slipping it into her bandages.
Fortunately, neither the guards nor Sarukh’s underlings seemed to notice the deception. Although Tahlia was decades removed from her youth on the backstreets of the Cinderfall District, it was nice to know her skulls had not fully rusted away.
‘So this is the best the Sigmarites have to offer?’ The Daemonsmith took a step back, expression turning pensive. ‘Bring her.’
One of the guards stepped forward to grab Tahlia’s arm, but she shook free. ‘No need to push.’
Although the guard’s graven mask betrayed no hint of emotion, he did take a step back - which Tahlia took as agreement. The others fell in as she followed Sarukh down the columned hall. He had called the place Galek Zharr. Although Tahlia had never heard the name, she had heard tales of the Helsmiths’ massive Ziggurats. Part mine, part forge, part city. Tahlia had heard of the corrupt duardin hollowing out entire mountains to house their terrible workings. From the muffled sounds of industry vibrating through the stone floor, Tahlia guessed they were high in the ziggurat.
Luxury was abound in the halls of Sarukh Soulburn. Every stone face was covered with intricate carvings. The squat, bearded figures were carefully gilded, seeming to glow in the firelight. Whereas their enemies and thralls were rendered in blocky relief, as if they were phurous fumes, runes of unknown purpose etched into the bases of pillars and the sharp arch of the ceiling. The Helsmiths seemed to think only in hard angles, not a curve to be seein in the breadth of the halls.
Servants and guards were numerous. Even the meanest wore enough adornments to embarras a petty king. Polished bronze mirrors hung in many places. More than once, Tahlia noticed a Helsmith pause to adjust ribes or helmet, picking through their beard to ensure not a single ringlet was out of place. The preening opulence reminded Tahlia of Azyrite courtiers, which only sharpened her disdain for the corrupt duardin. So too did the Helsmiths’ vain self-importance conceal a venomous core. More than once, Tahlia silently noted the sideways glares Sarukh’s underlings aimed at each other, and even at the Daemonsmith himself - when his back was turned.
Gilded chambers gave way to arcane laboratories. Although Tahlia could make little sense of the Helsmiths’ vile industry, she saw it terrible fruits clearly enough. Creatures of brass and rune-etched steel lurked in the laboratory shadows. Their metal bodies ranged from hulking beast-headed golems the size of troggoths, to small, articulated creations that scuttled across the tiled floor like daemonic arachnids. Beneath the hard carapaces, inner workings glowed with corrupt light.
They passed a chamber where a score of armoured smiths abused a hulk of metal with heavy hammers. As each blow landed, the metal gave an agonised shriek. Tahlia had grown up around smithies, but the Helsmiths’ operation little resembled the smelters she recalled. There was little ore to be seen, only rows and rows of manacles set into the bloodstained wall, a few occupied by ragged prisoners. Beyond, a massive crucible glowed furious orange, some strange admixture bubbling within. Tahlia could see shapes within the rune-etched cauldron, unnatural shadows writhing beneath the surface.
‘Daemonic dross. They are nothing to us.’ Saurkh spoke off-handedly. ‘Give me a large enough crucible and I would render down the Ruinous Powers themselves.’
The chamber opened up and they passed into a long gallery that overlooked an octagonal pit of truly colossal proportions. Wide enough to have swallowed an entire city district, the pit was studded with winch chains and metal scaffolding, its walls honeycombed with hundreds, if not thousands of forges and workshops. Massive sheets of metal were hoisted up and down, the boom of trip hammers and clatter of corrupted cogcraft almost deafening. Huge crucibles were wheeled into place, their contents emptied down into the shadowed depths.
It was not the noise of fiendish industry that unnerved Tahlia, rather the unearhtly shrieks that cut through the din. She knew Helsmiths used bound daemons to power their constructs, but to see the process writ on such a dreadful scale filled her with apprehension.
As if sensing Tahlia’s unease, Sarukh favoured her with a particularly vicious sneer. He did not speak, but he did not need to. It would take half the forge cathedrals in Hammerhal Aqsha to equal Galek Zharr, and this was but one Ziggurat.
A wide flight of stairs led to what Tahlia assumed were Sarukhs personal chambers. The luxury of the halls below seemed cheap and tawdy by comparison. A great throne dominated the room, its arms carved to resemble charging bulls, the high back adorned with golden crests and jagged horns. Rows of pedestals lined the walls, each topped with some stolen relic. The notched cleaver of an Ironjaw warchief sat next to to an unswept Lumineth helm. Several polished war bows hung over a mound of Sylvaneth soul pods, arranged just across from a pile of gleaming ur-gold, the pedestal framed by a pair of crossed Auric magmapikes.
Tahlia’s gaze slipped over the collected trophies, drawn to the pedestal nearest the throne, its lighter stonework speaking of more recent construction. The front face was carved with a relif of a one-eyes womankneeling before a squat figure in billowing robes. Upon the broad slab, carefully afficed with loops of worked bronze, rested Parchtongue and Warmaker.
‘Do you approve of my mason’s rendition?’ Sarukh paused by the pedestal, running one callused finger over the carving. ‘A bit rushed, perhaps. But they were working on description alone. Worry not, they shall have sufficient time to improve upon the initial design.’
Tahlia did not dignify the Daemonsmith with a response, keeping her gaze fixed upon the base of the throne.
‘Now you see.’ Sarukh climbed the stairs, settling on his throne with a self-satisfied sigh. ‘There is no hope for you. No hope for your people. No hope for your god.’
‘Why show all this if you think so little of me?’ She asked.
‘Iron is hard, but brittle.’ He smiled like a high priest ispensing benediction. ‘Nickel is light and mealleable. Both are common, uninteresting. But they can be alloyed into something far greater, but to make steel requires not only fire and force, but patience and preparation.’
Sarukh leaned forward in his throne, obsidian eyes twinkling in the firelight. ‘This is but the beginning.’
Tahlia bared her teeth. ‘And what alloy do you intend to make of me?’
Rather than reply, Sarukh shouted something at his attendants, who all but sprinted from the throne room. The Daemonsmith regarded Tahlia, expression unreadable, until the servants returned.
They carried a small litter between them upon which rested an even larger and more ornate helmet than the one Sarukh was currently wearing. The copper and gold filigree semed to writhe like the vines at Thornreach, making Tahlia’s eye water with their unnatural formations. Great golden horns rose from either side, the crest set with polished gems. There looked to be a dozen sockets, but barely half were filled. The tall crown radiated power. Even from several paces away, Tahlia could feel corrupt sorcery pule through the air.
The other Helsmiths watched as the headdress was carried forward, their respectful expressions belied by the naked avarice in their eyes.
‘Go on.’ Sarukh gestured to the crown. ‘Touch it.’
Tahlia did not move.
‘Only the weak rely upon deception.’ Sarukh smiled a predator’s toothy grin. ‘When I choose to hurt you, there will be no doubt as to my intentions.’
Cautiously, she reached out, her hand seeming naturally drawn to the gems at the crown’s top. Not two were the same - diamond, amethyst, a mossy agate that seemed to swirl with Verdian mist. It was upon this last that Tahlia’s fingers came to rest, propelled by the same unnatural magnetism that had gripped her.
The slightest of tingles flowed up her arm, strange, but not unpleasant. There was a moment of disorientation, a twisting in her thoughts. Thalia’s surroundings swimming as if she had drunk too much sweetblack.
T-Thalia? Tahlia Vedra? Is that you? The question echoed in her mind. Although roughened by fear and hardship, the voice was uncomfortably familiar.
She shook her head, confused. ‘Vidurn?’
It is you! Vidurn’s voice lost its tentativeness, taking on a terrified, pleading tone. Please, have mercy. By Sigmar’s hand, you must help me before-
A hard hand gripped Tahlia’s, dragging it away from the horrible crown. She had been so transfixed, she had not even noticed Sarukh descend from his throne. Now, the Daemonsmith’s cruel face loomed in Tahlia’s vision. All the terrible sights of the day seemed to fall upon Tahlia like a pack of furies. She realised what Sarukh had done to Vidurn, and what he planned to do to her.
There was no time for the dagger, so Tahlia butted Sarukh in the face. She felt his nose shatter, hot blood flecking her forehead as she reared back for another strike.
Sarukh’s stone fist caught Tahlia in the stomach, driving the wind from her. Still, she managed to tear a fistful of oiled ringlets from his beard before the guards dragged her off.
They beat her with the hafts of their halberds, stomping and bludgeoning until it was all Tahlia could do to curl into a ball. Beaten to death by corrupt duardin - certainly not the glorious end for the tavern ballads, but a far better one than what Sarukh had planned.
At a muffled shout from the Daemonsmith, the guards drew back. Tahlia could barely move, her body abuzz. Pain would come later. It always did. For now she managed to roll into a sitting position and work her tongue around her bloodied mouth, surprised to find all her teeth still in place.
Sarukh was upon his throne once more, a silken kerchief pressed to his nose. ‘If you wish to behave as a beast, then to the beasts you shall go.’ He gave a furious wave, eyes flashing with cruel promise.
‘Take her below.’

1 Like
4

Helsmiths Cell (page 143)

The cell was spacious but barren. Constructed with the same brutal angles as the rest of Galek Zharr, it formed a reactangle ten paces across and five wide. The celing was low enough Tahlia could not stand upright, the floor slightly sloped so she could never lie comfortably. Water dripped from a cleft between two unmortared stones, a stready trickle that could keep her alive, but was never enough to quench her thirst.
There was plenty to eat, once Tahlia grew hungry enough to catch the fat-bodied beetles that crawled from the latrine hole at the lower end of the cell. Designed with cruel efficiency, Tahlia’s prison would provide for her needs, if just barely. So long as Tahlia was willing to degrade herself.
If the Helsmiths thought deprivation would break her, they were sorely mistaken. The water might taste like factory runoff, the beetles of burnt hair, but at least Tahlia did not have to march a dozen miles between meals.
She was grateful the smoky darkness of the cell hid the extent of her injuries, at least until the fever came. Although Sarukh’s guards had been careful to use only kicks and bludgeons, the jagged nails on their boot soles left deep gouges in Tahlia’s back. She tried to keep the wounds clean, but it was futile. In what seemed like hours, the cuts had begun to fester.

1 Like
5

Tahlia escaping the cell, sneaking through abandoned mines, crucible where daemons are bound and the ritual chamber (pages 151-157)

The bettles were rancid as spoiled cactus pulp, crunchy and bitter, with rough edges that scratched Tahlia’s throat all the way down. Still, they were better than rats. She had tried to capture one of the sharp-toothed little beasts, and recieved only a tasty bite for her trouble.
So bugs it was.
Vidurn had been right about Sarukh needing Tahlia healthy. Not long after his shade departed, a quartet of Helsmiths had burst into Tahlia’s cell. Two held her down, while the others applied foul-smelling unguents to her wounds. After forcing a thick, bitter liquid down Tahlia’s throat, they bound her injuries and left without a word. Despite the brutality of the Helsmiths’ ministrations, it was not long until Tahlia’s fever broke. Her wounds had scabbed over, the pain of bruises and cracked ribs fading to a bearable ache.
In between revolting meals, she picked at the cell lock. Like everything else in Galek Zharr, it was blunk, but effective. Eeven with Sarukh’s dagger, it took time to manipulate the tumblers. Fortunately, Helsmith arrogance once again worked in Tahlia’s favour. It was as if the Helsmiths could not even conceive of a mere human escaping their cells. They posted no guards, nor did they send servants by to bring Tahlia food. If she had not known what Sarukh planned, Tahlia would have thought her captors had forgotten about her entirely.
Sleep came fitfully, an hour or two snatched from the humid dark like coins from a miser’s hoard. Tahlia would have liked to spend more time to gather her strength, but could not afford to delay too long lest Sarukh come for her.
As soon as her legs felt strong enough to carry her, Tahlia picked the lock and crept out into the hall. It felt like days since she had seen, let alone heard, a Helsmith, but Tahlia still shut the door behind her so nothing would look amiss. Although it had been decades since she had need of a good skulk, Tahlia was surprised by how quickly the old reflexes returned. In many ways, the bowels of Galek Zharr were a dark mirror of Cinderfall’s back alleys. Yes, the smoke was a bit more sulphurous, the shadows deeper, the inhabitants more murderous, bu, as ever, Tahlia’s goal remained the same.
Do not get caught.
The labyrinth of old mining tunnels beneath Galek Zharr was barely illuminated. Old runelamps cast Tahlia’s surrounds in hazy shadow. The guards followed complex, if regular patterns. If anything, they seemed more interested in policing one another than the depths of the Ziggurat. More than once, Tahlia had watched a guard linger to take unobtrusive notes on one of their comrades. The Helsmith rank-and-file seemed focused on decorum to a truly obsessive degree. Even Wintrath’s Silverspines would appear slapdash by comparison.
If Helsmith patrols proved little cause for concern, their Hobgrot servants presented a far greater threat. The lanky grots roamed the abandoned tunnels in packs, foraging among the mine tailing and forge detritus for bits of scrap. Tahlia almost stumbled into a score of the vicious little beasts gutting one another over a dented breastplate.
Despite the size of the tunnels, the air was hot and close, ringing with the sound of distant excavation. Labourers toiled in firelit shadows. They gouged at the stone with hammers and mattocks, clearing the mountain like devourer worms. Tahlia took care to skirt the active tunnels, but she need not have worried. Not a single labourer so much as raised their head - too focused, or perhaps too hopeless to notice anything beyond their work.
The boom and clatter faded as Thalia approached the chambers dedicated to the Helsmith’s more corrupt industries. Vidurn had warned her the lower reaches contained the daemonic processing facilities, but Tahlia could not restrain a shiver as the first unearhtly shriek echoed from below. Runes glinted evilly on the stone, warded chambers over-seen by apprentice Daemonsmiths and brawny Helsmith guards.
Massive chain conveyors draped from the darkness above. Each link as thick as Tahlia’s waist, they moved slowly. She waited, hands pressed futilely over her ears as a team of Helsmith labourers manoeuvred great brass ingots so the chains could lift them to the massive crucible above. Eerie shrieksm echoed down the platform. Unnatural shadows were backlit by the venomous glow of Helsmith sorceries. The hair on Tahlia’s arms prickled at the thought of the corrupt duardin’s daemon-binding. It was a risk, abandoning stealth for speed, but a quick dash through the open was better than spending another moment in that terrible place. A dozen frantic strides saw her across the chamber. Tahlia threw herself into the shadows, hooking an arm over a wall sconce before she tumbled headlong into the hall beyond.
Behind her came angry bellows and the scrape of metal on metal. Hardly daring to breathe, Tahlia spread herself along the wall, clinging to the puddle of darkness. Any moment, she expected to see horned shadows fill the hall. And yet, as she waited, heart fit to pound from her chest, the noise gradually returned to a mere cacophony.
Steadying herself, Tahlia brought the path back to memory. Beyond the processing floor only a few halls lay between Tahlia and the ritual chamber. There would certainly be guards. It was too much to hope they would be preoccupied as those patrolling the abandoned tunnels. Tahlia was considering potential ways to slip inside when she rounded the corner of a junction and came face to face with a hobgrot. It was moving at a dead sprint, looking back over its shoulder, arms wrapped awkwardly around an ornate helm.
The grot rebounded from Tahlia’s chest, surprising them both. Despite a near tumble, it reacted quickly, shifting its grip to draw a wicked dagger. Rather than close, Tahlia launched a heavy kick. The grot tumbled backwards, losing its grip on the helm as it slammed into the tunnel wall.
Tahlia skipped forward, stomping down hard on the beast’s knife hand. Its squeal became a wet gurgle as she drove Sarukh’s dagger into the grot’s flilthy throat. It flailed, feet juddering on the hard stone. Tahlia kept her weight on the creature’s weapon hand so as not to be slashed by its death throes. The grot’s blade was wickedly sharp, and no doubt crusted with all manner of vile excrescence.
After one final jerk, the beast fell silent. Tahlia gave her blade a twist just to be sure, then stripped the grot’s knife from its dirty fingers. She glanced at the helm it had been carrying. Although consummately crafted, it was fitted for a Helsmith head.
The scrape of boots on stone caused Tahlia to look up. A curse slipped through her clenched teeth. Several dozen hobgrots watched her from the shadows, seemingly surprised as Tahlia. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the pilfered helmet and held it out to them.
There was a moment of expectation, silence stretched like hide upon a tanning rack, Then the hobgrots swarmed towards Tahlia, snarling like a pack of warhounds.
There was nothing to do but run. Tahlia turned down the junction, footfalls echoing the rapid hammer of her heart. She could hear the grots behind her, the sounds of pursuit punctuated by bursts of cruel laughter. Tahlia rounded a corner, then another, unsure if she was still on the path to the ritual chamber. Better to be lost than be captured by hobgrots.
Braziers burned up ahead, the hall opening to a large antechamber. Half a dozen of Sarukh’s personal guard stood out front. Fortunately, none were looking Tahlia’s way. She glanced back. The grots had yet to round the corner.
Acting on instinct alone, she hurled the helmet at the guards, and dived for a patch of smoky shadows below the nearest brazier. The helmet clattered from one of the guards’ backplates. They spun, weapons at the ready, just as a pack of angry hobgrots boiled into the chamber.
Catching sight of the enemy phalanx, those in front tried to halt, only to be thrust angrily forward by those behind. They poured into the room, a razored wave trying desperately not to crash upon the shore.
The Helsmiths might have salvaged the moment. All it would have taken was one guard to recognise the panic on the grots faces. But then, they would not have been Helsmiths.
The guards opened fire. At such close range, the foremost grots became charred mist. There was no time to reload, so the Helmsmiths simply waded into the swarm, hacking and stabbing with their bladed guns. Unable to flee due to the mass of their fellows choking the hall behind, the grots leapt at their former allies like rabid Skaven. It was an uneven fight, but then, there were a lot of hobgrots.
A bloodied grot stumbled into Tahlia’s path, and her dagger finished what the Helsmith blades had begun. Holding the hobgrot’s corpse like a grisly shield, Tahlia slipped around the edge of the antechamber and beneath the massive rune-covered doorway that led to the ritual room.
There were symbols everywhere. Constellations of interlocking wards covered every surface, not to mention the ring of obelisks in the centre of the chamber. Although the shape of the runes she must alter had been burned into Tahlia’s memory, finding them would be like picking out an undone bootlace at regimental inspection.
It would take days to sift through the thousands of Helsmith sigils. From the sounds of combat outside the wide doorway, Tahlia might have minutes. She rounded the nearest obelisk, searching its facets. The runes seemed to shift in her vision, angry red symbols blurring like a heat mirage. Desperation drew tight fingers around Tahlia’s throat. How was she to find the right symbols when the runes would not even stay still?
Tahlia slammed a fist against the obelisk, grunting in frustration. There was a soft thrum, as if the stone reacted to her fury. Light glimmered in the corner of Tahlia’s vision, rippling like firelight through water. She turned, eye wide, to see the runes she needed to alter burning like torches upon the chamber wall. It seemed Vidurn’s shade had imparted not only the knowledge of the sigils, but the ability to recognise them.
There was no time to ponder the uncomfortable implication that some echo of Helsmith corruption might have made a home in her.
Tahlia hurried to the nearest rune, dagger in hand, and squatted to scratch out one of the jagged lines. Working quickly, she scratched at the wards, extending a line here, erasing another there.
Tahlia was not sure she got them all, but it would have to do. Judging by the diminishing sounds of combat in the antechamber beyond, her time in the ritual chamber was almost at an end. Abandoning the runes, she crept to the wide doorway.
Several of the guards were down. The remainder had formed a tight phalanx in one corner. The surviving hobgrots were attempting to flee, but every time they withdrew, the Helsmiths unleashed another salvo of hellfire. Bad news for the grots, gret news for Tahlia.
She slipped around the corner of the doorway, sprinting along the far edge of the antechamber. Errant shot pitted the stone around her, but the Helsmiths’ sporadic fire remained focused on the grots. Tahlia ran as fast as she dared, taking the turns at a jog, wary of encountering any more of the tunnels vicious denizens. The sounds of combat faded, only to be replaced by the far more unsettling cries of daemons. This time, Tahlia skulked along behind the great chain conveyer, her neck prickling at the nearness of the horrid crucibles overhead.
The tunnels beyond were a blur. Mor than once, Tahlia had to squeeze into an alcove or borehole as a knot of guards clattered past, but, at last, she reached a familiar set of stairs.
Tahlia had never been so happy to see a dungeon. She was less pleased by the three Helsmith guards who stepped from the shadows at the top of the stairs.
Although their calls came in the hard-edged tongue of the Chaos duardin, Tahlia understood the meaning clear enough. Although she had been caught, she did not know how long the guards had been outside her cell. Best to make it look as if she were attempting escape.
So Tahlia ran.
She almost made it back to the main hall before the guards’ calls brought another patrol charging from the shadows ahead. Tahlia skidded to a halt, brandishing the dagger at the newcomers.
It was a one-sided fight. Fortunately, the Helsmiths must have been under orders not to harm Tahlia. Although they were not gentle as they swarmed forward to strip the blade from her hands, the guards stopped well short of breaking any more bones. They dragged Tahlia roughly from the ground, her hands bound and her feet hobbled. She turned towards her prison, only to be shoved in the opposite direction.
Tahlia let out a shaky breath. Of all the strange luck. It seemed she had managed to reach her cell just in time to be dragged from it.

1 Like
6

Amazing work, scribe! I might have to check out this book.

1 Like
7

Why thank you!
And, if you do, I truly hope you enjoy it.

1 Like
8

The ritual and Tahlia’s escape (pages 159-165)

Tahlia’s second journey to the ritual chamber was quicker, if far elss comfortable. Although the guards bound her tightly, they were not shy with boots and axe hafts. At first, Tahlia thought it yet another aspect of Helsmith’s obsession with brutal decorum, until she saw one of the guards smirk and realised they were making sport of her. She endured the abuse, reminding herself that if all went as planned, the enemy would soon have little to smile about.
They led her through the lower forges, the mix of metal and rendered daemons filling the air with astringent smoke. The massed labourers gave no reaction save to bow as the guards passed. Beyond, Sarukh awaited amidst a gaggle of Galek Zharr’s high and mighty. Even the least among the Helsmith nobility wore enough gold and jewels to choke a gargant, and still the Daemonsmith stood out.
Sarukh was awash in ritual adornments - medallions, pectorals, torques, rings and pendants dripping from every limb. His robes were embroided with intricate designs, the fabric woven with thin strands of precious metal to form a runic tapestry that seemed to shift every time the Daemonsmith moved.
Even the brightest gems seemed dull compared to the Crown of Souls. It seemed to vibrate with energy. The air around the Daemonsmith’s head was distorted as if by heat from a blast furnace. He moved carefully, not exactly discomfited by the crown, but as if concerned it might explode. Given what Tahlia knew of Helsmith sorcery, it very well might.
‘Marshal Vedra.’ The medallions woven into Sarukh’s beard twinkled spitefully as he smiled. ‘I trust you found the accomodations to your liking?’
She shrugged. ‘I have been in worse.’
The Daemonsmith looked to his fellows. ‘Oh, you are about to be.’
This provoked a rumble of laughter from Galek Zharr’s nobility. Tahlia could almost feel their smug self-satisfaction.
‘Come to see the show?’ Sge asked the crown.
Sarukh’s reponse was immediate and brutal. With a snarl, he hammered his stone fist into Tahlia’s gut, dropping her to her knees.
‘You do not address them.’ His voice came low and threatening.
‘You speak only to me.’
Tahlia returned a toothy smile. ‘Is the mighty Daemonsmith jealous?’
More laughter from the helsmith nobles. Sarukh reddened beneath his beard.

‘You will pay for that.’ Although he spoke to Tahlia, Sarukh’s voice was pitched for a crowd. ‘Enjoy what few freedoms remain. Shortly, you will look back on even these degradations with longing.’
Tahlia struggled to her feet. ‘Best get on with it. Before you bore me to death and my soul escapes.’
‘You speak of boredome?’ He snorted. ‘The famed Lioness of The Parch, the finest general your miserable people have to offer. How easy it was to outmanoeuvre your clumsy strategies. Even now, my army marches towards your pitiful city. Once the ritual is complete, I shall fly to join them.’
Tahlia should have kept her mouth shut, should have let the Daemonsmith bluster until his lungs gave out. But she could never stomach arrogance.
‘You’re not half as clever as you believe.’
‘Am I not?’ He looked once more to his fellows. ‘Did I not destroy Vidurn’s pitiful army? And the one that came after? Did I not reduce a Sigmarite citadel to ruins? Are you not my prisoner?’ The Daemonsmith gave a booming laugh. ‘Whatever animal cunning you possess is nothing compared to the intricate complexities of Zharrdron warcraft.’
‘Intricate complexities?’ Despite her bruised stomach, Tahlia managed a credible laugh. ‘You would never have caught Vidurn by surprise if not for the traitor in our ranks. Pretend all you want, but we know capturing me was a stroke of luck, not intellect.’
Sarukh raised his fist, only to catch himself.
‘Any tortuer can break a body. It takes true skill to shatter a soul.’
Viciously genial once more, he gestured towards the Crown of Souls.
‘Come, Vedra. Let us see how sharp your tongue fares once I’ve ripped your spirit out by the roots.’
At Sarukh’s wave, two guards gripped Tahlia’s arms, propelling her towards the ritual chamber. The antechamber had been freshly cleaned, hobgrot bodies cleared away, the walls scrubbed of blood and powder burns.
Only Tahlia, Sarukh and a handful of the Daemonsmith’s acolytes ventured into the chamber proper. It was much as Tahlia remembered, although servants had placed braziers around the outer walls. Firelight mingled with the glow of nested wards, brazier smoke seeming to roil and shift as if stirred by invisible hands.
‘Prepare her.’ Sarukh’s face took on a stern focus of a forge attendant.
Rough hands removed Tahlia’s bonds and dragged her into the ring of obelisks. They pressed her hands to the plinth at the centre of the rings. Runes flashed, manacles of sizzling energy materialising from them. Tahlia tested the restraints, and earned herself a nasty burn.
‘Feel free to struggle.’ A spark of mirth glittered through Sarukh’s mask of composure. ‘It makes things more interesting.’
The Daemonsmith turned away. Holding out his arms like a street preacher, Sarukh waited as attendants romoved his bulky outer layer of robes. Unencumbered by the ceremonial garb, he made a slow circuit of the chamber. At first, Tahlia was worried Sarukh was checking the wards, but he spared them barely a passing glance.
The assembled acolytes began a low, droning chant. The invocation seemed to gather in Tahlia’s ears, not so much sound as pressure, as if she were descending rapidly from a great height. Just as Tahlia feared her skull might burst, Sarukh began his incantation. Words of power seared the air, braziers pulsing with the Daemonsmith’s unholy cadence. Waves of heat washed over Tahlia, each more punishing than the last. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out, muscles painfully tight.
Still chanting, Sarukh made a quick gesture. There came a muffled clatter of cogwork from below. Slowly, the circle of obelisks began to extend from the chamber floor. Although each was easily twenty feet tall already, there seemed to be at least as much additional length concealed below. They grew like vile trees, chisseled tips fitting into holes in the ceiling. Only when Sarukh carefully stepped beyond the circle of columns did Tahlia realise they were not obelisks, but bars of a massive cage of warded stone.
The Daemonsmith’s chant grew in strength. As one, his acolytes drew rune-inscribed hammers from their robes and strepped into the spaces between the columns. The air within the cage sparked like a hammered blade.
With a shout, the acolytes brought their hammers down. Although they struck empty air, the force seemed to contract and shift. Again, they struk the air, and again, in time with Sarukh’s chant, a master smith overseeing the forging of a cursed blade. An opalescent sheen filled Tahlia’s cage, seeming to cling to her skin like burning tar.
A form gradually took shape amidst the brilliance, each hammer strike bringing it more into focus. Although vaguely humanoid, it had no anatomy Tahlia could easily discern. There was a hint of webbed wings, jagged talons, a face stern and beatiful as a Stormcast war mask, but set upon an apelike body.
Long ears rose from its head. Sharp as lances, they seemed to almost pierce the air above as the daemon leaned forward, stalking towards Tahlia on all fours, lithe as an alley cat. It grew, shifting not in size but perspective, as if the creature were approaching down a long tunnel.
The space around them contracted, Sarukh and his acolytes beat at the air, forging a cell not of steel but of sorcery. Every blow brought the bars closer, the cage tighter. At last, the daemon seemed to notice the Helsmiths. It swiped at the wards, only to recoil as they flashed a harsh green. Bright afterimages danced across Tahlia’s vision as the daemon snarled and struggled, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. Although it seemed to have lost interest in her, the Helsmith sorceries forced them ever closer together. Sarukh burned like a beacon at the edge of Tahlia’s vision, the Crown of Souls so bright as to scar itself into her sight.
Fear uncoiled in Tahlia’s chest. Like the cruel vines that had choked Thornreach, it spread through her limbs, setting her body shaking.
Vidurn had been wrong. Or he had lied. Or perhaps Sarukh’s apprentices had discovered her amatuer sabotage. Whatever the cause, Tahlia had not done enough.
The daemon was close enough she could feel its unearhtly energy, a bile static that raised the hair upon Tahlia’s arms and neck. Although the daemon’s expression never changed, she could hear its howling rage, each strike tearing through her like canister shot. Its outline began to blur, claws, scale, wing and fang floating away like pyre ash. Sarukh’s ritual was rendered the creature down, binding and consuming its power just like the lesser daemons Tahlia had seen fed into Helsmith crucibles.
Soon, all that remained was the creature’s face. Surrounded by tightening coils of energy, it began to change, hideous serenity replaced by a battle-scarred visage, long-haired and brutal. Its single remaining eye caught Tahlia’s gaze, and in that terrible moment she recognised the daemon’s face has her own.
At last, Tahlia screamed.
There was an answering flash, a pulse of corruption that seemed to sever the arcane connection between Tahlia and the daemon. The runes she had altered flared pyre-bright in the haze, then went dark. The daemon’s face shattered, mirror-bright shards reassembled into malicious aspect. With a low snarl, the creature turned from Tahlia, body flickering back into unearthly substance.
The nearest acolyte died before she could even muster a scream. Those to either side of her raised their hammers, only to ignite like oil-soaked rags. Again, the daemon pressed against the wards. This time, however, they buckled beneath the creature’s corrupt weight. It might have been wishful thinking, but Tahlia detected a note of fear in Sarukh’s chant. The Daemonsmith urged his acolytes forward, only to have them fling their hammers down and flee.
An explosion rocked the chamber, scatterung the running Helsmiths like windblown ash. A blast of furnace heat rolled over Tahlia. It snatched the tears from her eye and caused her hair to smoke. The initial boom was followed by the sound of tortured stone as several of the obelisks cracked, their runes guttering like dying candles.
The sorcerous bonds restraining Tahlia’s arms and legs flickered and disappeared. She dropped to the ground just as another wave of daemonic force rocked the ritual chamber. One of the obelisks teetered before toppling, crashing into the chamber wall.
Sunlight pierced fiery shadows, a tepid beam of light spilling forth from where the fallen obelisk had torn a hole in the side of the ziggurat. Tahlia scrambled towards the canted stone, not daring to look back. She could feel the daemon’s mad anger as it tore through the failing wards, Sarukh’s harsh cries like the corak of a dying raven.
A series of chattering booms echoed from behind as the Daemonsmith called upon the power of the Crown of Souls. Tahlia paid them no heed, jaw tight as she scaled the toppled obelisk, her gaze fixed upon the small circle of light overhead.
Powerful sorceries scoured the stone around her, each sulphurous bolt echoed by a very human scream. A mix of pain and rage, they seemed to tighten like a noose around Tahlia’s throat. She had sworn to destroy the crown, to free Vidurn and whatever other souls Srukh had bent to his brutal will. Tahlia should have felt remose, but all she could manage was a vague chagrin. Even had she possed the means to destroy the crown, now was hardly the time.
Tahlia’s doubts fled the moment sunlight touched her face. Not the dry, smoky heat of Galek Zharr, but the soft warmth of Hysh.
She dived for the hole, uncaring that the basalt left scrapes on her elebows and knees. There was a moment of claustrophobic pressue, then Tahlia burst into the sunlight.
She tumbled down the ziggurat’s side, head over heels, arms raised to shield herself from the hard stone.
Great drifts of wet ash mounded the ziggurat’s side. Although Tahlia had the good fortune to land upon one of the larger ones, the impact still hmmered the breath from her. Like a drowning swimmer, she kicked through the soot and detritus, lungs burning. Just as the need to breathe became overwhelming, her face broke from the mound.
Tahlia gasped in great whooping breaths. Painfully, she dragged herself from the mound to curl upon the blasted earth, shuddering like a soot-daubed mendicant. Tahlia would have liked to lie there for an age, but an eruption of smoke from the hole in the ziggurat set her stumbling to her feet. She scrubbed a hand across her eye, blinked away stinging tears, and groaned.
Tahlia had hoped to fleet into the thick Ghyranite forests, but the land around Galek Zharr had been thoroughly scourged. Miles of blasted earth separated her from the distant tree line.
Another boom caused Tahlia to flinch. She peered at the ziggurat, expecting Sarukh to burst from the side in a torrent of avenging flame. Although the Daemonsmith remained engaged, Tahlia could see tinly figures upon Galek Zharr’s stepped tiers. Muzzle flashes glattered like diamonds upon the basalt. A plume of ash kicked up a dozen paces to Tahlia’s left, another thudding into the stony ground behind her. Rather than give the sharpshooters time to find their range, Tahlia broke into a shambling run. Although every instinct urged her to make straight for the tree line, long experience had taught her the best way to avoid fire was to move unpredictably. Hunching to make herself as small as a target as possible, she gave her best impression of a Cinderfall drunk stumbling home after a long night in the taverns.
More shots pocked the ground around her. Any moment, Tahlia expected to feel the brutal impact of a Helsmith bullet, but either distance or her weaving progress was enough to frustrate the sharpshooters.
A small victory. Whether Sarukh lived or died, his corrupt kin would be after Tahlia soon enough. Jaw tight, she snatched up a jagged bit of scrap from amidst a pile of industrial refuse.
The Helsmiths might catch her. But they would never take her alive.

1 Like
9

Outskirts of Galek Zharr (pages 167-171)

Sweat stung Tahlia’s eye, her hair plastered back with a mixture of blood and grime. The deep crimson of her Aqshian uniform was lost beneath a layer of soot, and her boots squelched with every furtive movement. Once, she had thought the Ash Wates of Aqshy to be the most miserable swathe of territory in the Mortal Realms, but silt storms and pits could not hold a candle to the arcane devastation surrounding Galek Zharr.
A light mist fell from ugly clouds above, turning the mounded soot into a corrupt slurry. Rivers of factory runoff cut winding channels through the industrial swamp. Wide but shallow, they flowed in bilious colours, the sluggish current occassionally becoming a flood as one or another of the pipes and ports leading from the ziggurat’s lower reaches belched forth a gout of effluvium.
Tahlia had tried to avoid the sludge, but could not afford to be squemish lest her pursuers overtake her. Although slower even than Tahlia’s stumbling run, the Helsmith war machines neither tired nor halted, approaching like a horde of metal-clad daemons. Steel screeched on rock as they ground across the massive stone causeways that bisected the wastes of Galek Zharr. Although none of the machines had ventured into the morass itself, they were not shy about lobbing ordnance into the mire. If anything, the crews seemed to delight in the devastation. Tahlia heard muted cheers whenever any of the shots set one of the tainted rivers alight.
At first, Tahlia thought the Helsmiths simply revelled in destruction, until a curtain of yellow-green fire blocked her path and she was forced to double back. Her stomach dropped as she realised her pursuers were methodically subdividing the wastes to cut off avenues of escape.
Squads of soldiers, either braver or more expendable than the rest, stalked among the burned-out hulks that dotted the wastes. The remains of truly monolithic dredges and excavators, it seemed the Helsmiths had used them to scour the ziggurat’s surrounds before simply abandoning them.
It was one of these rusted monstrosities Tahlia now lay, praying to Sigmar that the Helsmith prodding the other side of the patchy metal bulkhead would not see her squatting there like some slack-witted sewer jack. Unfortunately, Sigmar had apparently decided to let Tahlia sort out her own problems, because a Helsmith slogged into view, long axe held cross-body in a two handed grip.
Tahlia lunged from the mud, makeshift dagger in hand. Rather than search for a gap in the Helsmith’s armour, Tahlia stabbed him in the mouth. She felt the edge grind across bone and gave it a savage twist. The Helsmith gave a garbled howl, shifting his grip to bring his axe to bear. Tahlia snatched at the axe haft with her free hand.
Although the Helsmith was stronger, Tahlia was taller. She leaned into the stocky fiend, using her weight to pin the axe between them even as she worked the dagger deeper into his face.
Snorting like a gutshot orruk, the Helsmith released his axe and drove a mailed fist into Tahlia’s ribs. A groan slipped through her clenched teeth. She thrust the soldier away, but he did not fall. Despite a gruesome smile. And why not? He had captured a Lioness. The soldier snatched a serrate dagger from his belt, far longer than the bit of jagged metal Tahlia held. Fortunately, she also had the fool’s axe.
She hacked into the Helsmith’s bearded cheek, spattering herself with blood and bits of bone. Although he dropped to the mud, Tahlia was not about to leave matters to chance. Another two overhand blows were enough to remove the wretch’s head.
Shouts rose above the crackle of burning refuse. Abandoning any pretence of stealth, Tahlia broke from cover, leaping across a stream of furnace bile to land awkwardly upon the far bank. The ashy soil gave way and would have spilled Tahlia back into the sulphurous water had she not managed to bury her axe in a patch of solid ground. A fusillade hit upstream with a teeth-rattling boom. It threw up a huge plume of earth and filthy water, showering down on Tahlia even as the stream ignited. Flames nipped at her heels like hungry flesh hounds as she dragged herself onto the bank.
Although the wall of flames cut off Tahlia’s pursuers, the air was soon heavy with acrid smoke. Her eye stinging, one sleeve pressed over her mouth, Tahlia staggered away from the fire. To her left, another burning river cast evil shadows across the ruined ground. To her right stood one of the Helsmith’s high stone causeways, a tracked war machine rattling down its broad top.
With asnarl worthy of Infernadine, Tahlia turned towards the causeway. Although there were few handholds, the base of the causeway was easily twice as wide as its top, enough slope for Tahlia to scramble awkwardly up the side.
The war machine was twice the size of a steam tank, its heavy tracks studded with brutal looking spikes. A great horned grille hung from the front, coming to a point like the prow of a warship. Thick iron plates covered the entirety of the metal daemon, broken only by a few viewing slits and a large bombard protruding from the top. Thick smoke belched from long tubes at the marchine’s rear. Like some monstrous pipe organ, they echoed with the high, hate-filled shrieks of the daemons bound to the thing’s horrible engine.
Tahlia stumbled onto the stone path, hefting her axe as the terrible machine picked up speed. There was no outrunning the thing now.
Axe dangling from one hand, Tahlia took several bounding steps towards the daemonic war machine, timing her leap to avoid the spiked grille. She caught one of the broad horns protruding from the prow and managed to pull herself up long enough to hook a leg over the protrusion. Tahlia dangled for a moment, hugging the bronze horns as if it were a long-lost companion. The metal was warm to the touch, seeming to pulse with a terrible life. Still, Tahlia hefted herself up onto the riveted steel plates atop the war machine, crouching just below the stubby barrel of the bombard.
She had hoped one of the Helsmiths would throw open a porthole and try to gun her down, but it seemed the crew was too wise. Tahlia might be atop their machine, but she had no way to breach the thing. They need only wait for their companions, who would be more than capanle of scraping Tahlia from her precarious perch.
With a curse, she hammered her axe against the turret. Back at Thornreach, she had seen machines like this weather cannon shot. Tahlia’s fit of pique would accomplish little more than blunting her blade. Desperately, she cast about for something, anything, but found little more than riveted steal and a nest of smoking bronze pipes. A pistol poked from one of the viewing slits, shot sparking from the metal to Tahlia’s left. She rounded the turret towards the rear of the machine to shelter among the engine exhaust. She accidentally brushed one of the long bronze tubes, hot enough to blister skin.
Another shot pinged from a nearby pipe, the force causing it to cant at a slight angle. Smoke bled from the wounded bronze. Tahlia narrowed her eye, the beginnings of a plan seeming to coalesce from the haze around her.
Tongue pressed firmly to the corner of her mouth, she reversed her axe and swung at the base of the nearest pipe. Although the blow sent uncomfortable vibrations up Tahlia’s arms, it did bend the bronze. Tahlia hammered at the nest of pipes. Slowly, they bent back along the top of the war machine. Some she crimped to prevent smoke from escaping, others she battered towards the view ports. It was not a perfect fit, but it did not need to be. Soon, the remaining pipes were blowing their vile exhaust into the crew cabin.
Like a soot-covered spider, Tahlia clabered over to the machine’s top hatch. She did not have to wait long. With a sharp clang, the lock disengaged and the hatch was thrown open. Smoke billowed as a coughing Helsmith poked his bearded head from inside.
Tahlia brought her axe down and the fool tumbled back into the smoke-filled cabin. She kicked the hatch closed, listening as the coughs and commotion gradually died. The machine began to turn, one set of tracks dangling over the causeway’s edge. Tahlia leapt as it tumbled from the stone patch, tucking her shoulder to turn the fall into a roll.
There was a crash from below, then a series of muffled booms as the machine’s daemonic engine exploded. Tahlia crawled to the edge of the causeway to peer down at the smoking wreck. Grinning, she pushed to her feet and glanced down the causeway towards Galek Zharr.
Another of the Helsmith’s infernal engines chugged down the path towards her, but it was some distance away. The soldiers on the burning plain below were cut off by the self-same flames they had used to corner Tahlia. The path to the forest lay clear.
She broke into a shambling jog. For the first time since tumbling from the ziggurat, Tahlia saw a clear path to freedom. But once again, she had underestimated Helsmith malice.
Thalia had crossed barely a hundred paces when the causeway ahead of her exploded. She flung herself to the ground, covering her head as flecks of burning stone rained down. Numbly, Tahlia looked ahead. Through the smoke, she could just see the ragged edge of the causeway.
Hope guttered in Tahlia’s chest. The corrupt duardin were so fixated on recapturing her that they were willing to detroy their own edifices. Slowly, she came to understand they would never stop, never relent. Though it cost everything, the Helsmiths would triumph, must triumph. Anything less would be to admit their arrogance, and that, they would never do.
Another fusillade struck the causeway behind Tahlia. She looked to the mire below and saw only flames. Shaking her head, she blew out a long breath. In truth, it had been a minor miracle she had made it this far, let alone managed to destroy one of the Helsmiths’ infernal machines.
A noble attempt.

A shadow fell over Tahlia - no doubt another of the Helsmiths’ terrible inventions. The Kharadron built masterful flying machines. It stood to reason their twisted kin did as well. A moment, and Tahlia would be plucked from the ruined causeway. Then it was back to the ziggurat to become the tortured playhting of Sarukh or one of his Daemonsmith colleagues.

A moment, and they were skimming through clouds of bitter smoke. Although the chemical reek of burning effluvium caused Tahlia’s head to swim, it also shielded them from the worst of the artillery.
Still, the Helsmiths were nothing if not persistent. Glancing back, Tahlia thought she saw a flash of bronze wings at the apex of Galek Zharr, but even battered and half-starved, Tahlia had no doubt Infernadine could outdistance whatever brazen monstrosity the Helsmiths sent after them.

1 Like
10

Helsmiths march to Hammerhal Ghyra (pages 205-206)

The Helsmiths advanced like a lava flow, drowning everything before them in fire and ash. Even had Huntmaster Kynaleth not been shadowing the Helsmiths’ every movement, Tahlia would have been able to mark their advance by the clouds of acrid smoke.
Hordes of hobgrots skulked around the fringes like scavengers anticipating a kill. At first, Tahlia chalked this up to Helsmith arrogance, until she realised the hobgrots’ unenviable position also meant they were first to die when the Sylvaneth came shrieking from the forest. Flights of glittering arrows devastated the grots, Tree-Revenants and Dryads descending upon the chaotic ranks with the fury of a summer storm.
After each raid, the army would pause to devastate the surrounding forest. Rockets and gouts of daemonic flame turned tangled foliage into a glassy waste. Only when they had annihilated a wide swathe of vegetation did the Helsmiths continue, seeming to take perverse delight in shelling the greenery.
Great blocks of heavily armoured infantry stomped across the blasted earth, axes and glaives backed by ranks of gunners. Having got a good look at the great foundries of Galek Zharr, Tahlia had expected many infernal armaments, but even her best estimate of the ziggurat’s might was merely a shadow of what the Helsmiths brought to bear.
A line of massive wheeled transports rattled along in the centre of the enemy army. Each as large as a small citadel, they were loaded down with iron beams and hammered metal plates. Heavy chains wound around spools that would have dwarfed a good-sized boulder, surrounded by portable forges and foundries. Cannons and rocket batteries trundled alongside, their rune-etched barrels spitting ugly green sparks into the air. A broad wedge of two-legged constructs brought up the rear. Like squat, armoured gargants, they towered above the Helsmith infantry, their metal arms capped with spiked mauls, their chests aglow with baleful flame.
Although Tahlia did not dare to venture close enough to pick out Sarukh, she had no doubt the Daemonsmith was preparing to corrupt the geomantic realmlines powering Ghyra’s arcane defences. Tahlia dearly hoped that was the only surprise the Helsmiths had planned, but hard experience told her otherwise.

1 Like
11

Helsmiths prepare their siege weapons (page 212)

War drums thundered warning cadences, echoed by the beat of Tahlia’s own heart. The line of smoke had reached Ghyra at last, billowing out in great clouds that seemed to devour the horizon. War machines cleared a wide swathe of forest just beyond the Freeguild’s artillery range. Already, hobgrot labourers were throwing up vast ramparts, which teams of Helsmith engineers reinforced with wood and iron.
Towering scaffolds sprouted like hard-edged trees. The Helsmiths had burnt the forest to ash, only to erect another of steel. With cranes and claws, they began to unload their terrible cargo. For all appearances, it almost looked as if the enegy had come to build a city rather than besiege one, but Tahlia was not fooled. No doubt Helsmiths practised siegecraft with the same scrupulous malice they applied to all endeavours. The assault would come, powerful and overwhelming.
Tahlia only hoped Ghyra was ready.

1 Like
12

Helsmiths slowly sieging Hammerhal Ghyra (page 213)

Smoke threaded the sky, greasy black streamers rising from the city below. The Helsmiths were punishing the lower strata. Rockets and bombards were protected by heavy iron mantlets, runic wards deflecting all but direct hits. Even so, the Ghyranite artillery reaped a harvest of twisted steel. And still the Helsmiths perservered.
No sooner had a destroyed bombard cooled, than teams of labourers were dragging the wrech back to camp with chains and pulleys.
Like cogwork, the bulwards were repaired and another piece of monstrous artillery trundled into place. Day and night made no difference; the assault continued with barely a pause. Great trails of ruin slowly crawled up Ghyra’s terraced slopes like blackened veins spreading from an infection.
Tahlia did her best to ensure no soldier spent too long on the walls. Sarukh might care nothing for his underlings, but in her experience soldiers fought better for a commander they knew would not spend lives frivolously.

1 Like
13

Helsmiths siege continues (pages 217-220)

Bolts of crackling energy tore great chunks from Ghyra’s walls. Even at a distance, the shockwaves buffeted Tahlia, forcing her to keep a tight grip on Infernadine’s reigns. They soared above the outer wall, careful to avoid the blazing rockets.
For all she despised the Helsmiths, Tahlia could not fault their industry. Great siege towers rumbled across the pocked field. Each half again as tall as the city wall, they had grown like vile weeds amodst the scaffolds of the enemy war camp. Daemonic cranes raised thick iron plates, teams of Helsmith workers swarming down to rivet them to the frame. Bolted to the front of each tower was a massive slab of metal. At first, Tahlia thought it simply more armour, until they reached the lava channels.
Explosions rocked the first tower, a series of small charges blasting free the heavy bolts that secured the metal slab. With a teeth-grating shriek, it sheared from the front of the tower and slammed down across the channel. A moment, and the siege tower began to move once more, spiked wheels shrieking across the makeshift bridge.
From atop Ghyra’s towers and battlements, Freeguild cannon crews punished the siege engines. Humans and duardin sweated and strained, grim faces stained with soot. Scattered cheers filtered up from below as well-placed Luminark blasts penetrated the armoured wheels of a siege tower. Although the massive war machine listed like an ancient temple column, it did not fall.
With a snarl, Tahlia urged Infernadine towards the canted tower. Smoke billowed from its lower reaches, the crenellated top swarming with Helsmith gunners. Tahlia brought Infernadine around low and fast. Although she saw scattered flashes from the tower’s many firing ports, the angle of the siege engine meant that its crew could not line up a clear shot.
They hit the tower just below the top. Infernadine’s claws shrieked across rough steel, the impact hard enough to almost dislocate Tahlia’s shoulder as she held tight upon the manticore’s harness chains. The first Helsmith to poke his head over the tower’s battlements recieved a stab from Infernadine’s tail.
Tahlia introduced the next few to Justice.
She swung the axe overhead, aiming for the gaps between the iron crenellations. The heavy blade carved through high helms and articulared plate. Spitting blood through the cleft tusks, gunners tumbled back amidst their fellows. Infernadine’s wings clawed at the air as the manticore threw his bulk against the listing tower. Slowly, the siege engine began to tip.
Tahlia saw one of the Helsmiths’ stubby guns poke from a fiting port to their left. One hand wrapped in Infernadine’s harness chain, she leaned out over the empty air to bring Justice chopping down. It sheared through the gun’s ugly muzzle. There came a muffled explosion from within the tower, then more shouting.
Dark-bearded faces glowered at Tahlia from atop the tower. Climbing onto Infernadine’s shoulders, she swept Justice across the battlement. The Helsmiths were quick to pull back, their shots spoiled. Tahlia knew they would be back in a moment, but a moment was all Infernadine needed.
Anger turned to alarm as the great tower turned a slow pirouette. Infernadine gathered his legs, leaping free from the doomed siege engine as it toppled into one of the channels. Tahlia watched hobgrots and corrupt duardin spill into the hungry lava. A few clung to the tower’s spikes. They made easy targets for the Freeguild sharpshooters on the nearby cogforts.
Even stationary, the forts were formidable weapon emplacements, raking the Helsmith siege towers with deadly crossfire. The Collegiate sorcerers had been thorough in cutting the city’s arcane defences from the conflux of realmlines, but even though the wards etched upon Ghyra’s stones were dull and dead, its walls were strong, and every hour that passed was more time for Katrik to bring aid.

Another pair of siege towers rumbled towards Ghyra. They inched around the blasted hulks that dotted the lava channels, undaunted by the wreckage.
Teeth bared in disgust, Tahlia turned Infernadine from the field. Ghyra’s defenders had taught the Helsmiths a fistful of hard lessons over the last long days, but Sarukh Soulburn seemed to care nothing for the cost, so long as it brought him closer to his goal.
Tahlia had seen the Daemonsmith but rarely. A flash of ugly flame, a flicker of bronze wings amidst the smoke. Tahlia liked to think Sarukh was sulking, his plan to undermine Ghyra’s arcane defences foiled. Unfortunately, she was too painfully acquainted with the Daemonsmith to believe he had simply abandoned his sorcerous works. He had Vidurn’s knowledge, after all.

‘We’re giving the bastards both barrels, first marshal.’ That from Artillerist Ruldry, a long-haired Verdian engineer with a leg of rune-etched oak. ‘Although it won’t matter if they keep tossing those damnable towers at us.’
Tahlia cast a rueful glance at the siege camp. Although the defenders had succeeded in downing the two most recent towers, another dozen were under construction. Normally, Tahlia would have led raids to destroy the siegeworks, but Sarukh had thrown up iron palisades beyond the range of the Freeguild cannons. They were studded with guns, and any defenders foolish enough to leave Ghyra’s walls would be cut to pieces long before they reached the camp.

‘Those bearded bastards might be able to keep this up, but my crews are tired.’ Ruldry ran a hand through soot-streaked hair. ‘Exhaustion and fingerbite don’t mix.’

The orders went out, and none too soon, as another three siege towers rumbled from the Helsmith camp. Tahlia watched them come, a frustrated shout building in her chest.

1 Like
14

Tahlia, Stormcast and Beetle Cavalry attack Helsmiths camp and battle large Helsmiths construct (pages 223-232)

‘The invaders are a blight upon the Realm of Life, their presence profanes Ghyra’s sacred soil. Let us rip this vile weed by the roots, scourge the earth with lightning and hammer so it might never grow again.’
Tahlia swalled a sigh, doing her best to look properly inspired. Nothing wrong with a little enthusiasm, but she always found blade and shot to be better expressions of faith. Still, she knew better than to interrupt a Lord-Celestant mid-sermon.
The Helsmiths had no such reluctance. A cnnon shot arced over their heads, sputtering as it fell amidst a small Sylvaneth grove.
Daemonic flame blossomed among the ancient trees. Eager to aid the grove’s inhabitants, a group of Verdians hurried towards the fire with buckets and quellstaves.

Tahlia would never have risked horses on the blasted terrain. Scattered with rubble and smaking craters, it would have been difficult even for demigryphs. Although far slower than other cavalry, the multi-legged scarabs crossed the uneven ground without concern. They swarmed across the battered Helsmith bridges, an avalanche of chitinous bodies gaining speed as they advanced upon the enemy camp.
Ahead, Tahlia saw flashes of blue and silver amidst the Helsmiths’ dark steel structures. Winged Prosecutors wheeled above the camp, Wedges of Annihilators pierced the enemy lines. Wielding great two-handed grandhammers of meteoric steel, they battered back the Helsmith infantry. Shields locked and stormspears levelled, Vindicators formed mobile bulkwards behind which their crossbow - and bowarmed brethren could unleash deadly salvoes upon the artillery crews.
Lord-Clestant Telemon strode across the battlefield like an advenging titan, every hammer blow reducing the Helsmiths’ daemonic machinery to scrap. Bullets sparked from his sigmarite warplate. Bilious flames licked from wide-muzzled guns, wreathing the Lord-Clestant in a sulphurous inferno. He waded through the conflagation, urged on by a righteous fury brighter than anything the Helsmiths could conjure.
Rather than press the Hallowed Knights, the enemy gave ground, retreating from the scattered outer bulwards to a secondary line of fortifications. Secure amidst their jagged ramparts, the Helsmiths turned their fire upon the stormcasts.
Tahlia urged Infernadine forward as lightning forked from the clouds overhead and fallen Stormcast souls were snatched back by Sigmar’s holy hand. Gaps formed amidst the Hallowed Knights’ shield wall, the archers behind overwhelmed by the vicious outpouring of gunfire. Against such terrible onslaught even Sigmar’s chosen could not long endure. Fortunately, they did not need to.
At Tahlia’s signal, the mass of scarab cavalry split, spreading like two great wings around the enemy fortifications. Scattered shots roared out, but with their guns trained upon the Hallowed Knights, the Helsmiths could not easily redirect their fire.
Scarabs hammered into iron plating, segmented legs churning the soil as they battered through the bulwards and into the camp. A herd of bull centaurs charged from the scaffolded shadows, brutish faces alight with battle joy.
Tahlia brought Infernadine down, angling the manticore’s dive to strike the charging centaurs from the side. Unwilling or unable to check their forward momentum, the bullish beasts were sent flying. Infernadine’s claws raked across exposed flanks, his tail lashing down to pierce chests and throats. From atop her Throne Memoriam, Tahlia rained blows upon the enemy. Although it did not possess quite the flare of Parchtongue, the Hammer of Zeal proved more than adequate for shattering Helsmith skulls.
A moon-bladed axe hacked flinders from the Throne Memoriam’s arm. Another strike skated across Infernadine’s harness chains before carving a long gash down the manticore’s flank. Teeth gritted, Tahlia brought her hammer down upon the arms of the nearest centaur, only to almost lose her other eye to the beasts horns. They pressed in from all sides - a sea of tusked faces, animalistic fury captured in the firelit gloom.
Something struck Tahlia in the back. Although her armour took the worst of it, the blow drove the breath from her lungs. She flung out a hand, fingers cluthing for Infernadine’s harness chain. It was all she could do to keep hold of her hammer, let alone raise it.
An axe ricocheted from her pauldron. Just a glancing blow, but still enough to numb Tahlia’s arm. As if sensing her peril, Infernadine reared back, wings buffeting the squat centaurs. Gasping, Tahlia was able to scramble back into the Throne Memoriam and wrap a harness chain aroundher waist. Not a moment too soon, as several bull centaurs lunged from the churning gloom.
Yowling, the manticore tumbled back, limbs flailing. Amidst the chaos, Tahlia caught the glint of steel, and raised her hammer just in time to check a blow that would have removed one of Infernadine’s wings. Her backswing made red ruin of the bull centaur’s chest, but there was another behind, and another.
Axes came up, expressions twisted in bestial triumph. Then, a flash of green-enamelled chitin glittered in the corner of Tahlia’s eye. A spear erupted from the side of the nearest centaur, another beheaded by the steel-tipped mandibles of the knight’s mount.

Scarab cavalry crashed through the bull centaurs like a rogue gargant. For a moment, all was blood and flailing limbs, then the centaurs scattered, thick legs pumping as they galloped away.

Converging on the caffolds from both sides, the scarab riders tossed their charges. There were some muffled explosions, the air filled with chitinous flechettes as several of the satchels detonated pematurely, killing the rider and mount. Fortunately, most managed to deposit their charges without becoming bloody mist.
They turned from the scaffolds, only to be confronted by a massive form of iron and bronze. Easily as tall as Ghyra’s outer wall, its metal body was vaguely bull-shaped, but for the heavy forward limbs of a crag ape. Flat-faced, with a pair of brazen horns spiralling from its head, the daemonic construct gave vent to a piercing cry, high and shrill as the blast of a steam boiler.
It swept a massive, spiked mace across the forward ranks of cavalry, sending scarabs scattering. Tahlia spied Galain among the milling ranks. The marshal was fighting against the press, spear waving, desperate to redirect the stampeding scarabs.
Tahlia urged Infernadine towards the mechanical beast, only to pull back as it vomited a torrent of laca onto the foremost beetles. Gouts of twisting flame marked each death, scarab popping like Comestday fireworks. Somehow, Galain managed to turn the rear ranks, only for the creature to lower its head and prepare to charge. Somehow, Galain managed to turn the rear ranks, only for the creature to lower its head and prepare to charge.
There was a flash of actinic blue. Bright afterimages danced across Tahlia’s vision. Blinking back stinging tears, she saw the daemonic construct reel back, tossing its head as if to dislodge an unwanted rider. Atop its spiked back stood a silver-armoured figure.
Lord-Celestant Telemon brought his hammer down again, caving in one of the armoured plates that warded the creature’s roiling innards. Then he was obscured by a blast of sulphurous steam.
Tahlia urged Infernadine through the swirls of daemonic smoke. A huge mace swept from the mist, spikes large as great cannons. The manticore tiwsted to avoid the swipe, causing Tahlia to lose her footing. Had she stayed upright. she would have been splattered upon the hard ground. As it was, her arm was almost yanked from its socket as it held on to Infernadine’s harness chain.
She screamed, twisting in the air like a loose lure. A spike-covered shoulder loomed to her left. the beast’s high shriek came again, loud as a rocket salvo. Rather than be spitted on the creature’s rusty spines, Tahlia released the chain, swinging the Hammer of Zeal.
Tahlia felt it strike and catch, a spray of gold-embossed thunderbolts and saints’ faces grinding across the coarse iron. Shoulder screaming with pain, Tahlia managed to grip the edge of the creature’s armoured pauldron. She tensed as a shadow loomed from the smoke, only to relax as it extended a gauntleted hand to grip her arm.
‘Of course it would be you.’ Tahlia spoke through gritted teeth as Lord-Celesant Telemon lifted her fully onto the beast’s heaving back.
‘We are all but instruments of Sigmar’s design.’ The Stormcast turned away. ‘Take my hand and let his will be done.’
Tahlia did not much like owing her life to a Hallowed Knight, but she supposed it was better than the alternative. With a wry grunt, she shouldered the Hammer of Zeal and gripped Telemon’s arm. Slowly, they made their way to the join where the beast’s back met its neck. Blasts of superheated steam squealed from between armoured plates. The warding runes on Tahlia’s armour sparked and spat as waves of daemonic heat rose from the furious creature.
Only when they reached the fringe of spikes around the base of the beast’s neck did Telemon pull free of Tahlia’s grip. Bracing himself, he raised his massive hammer.
‘Sigmar strengthen our arms and lend the righteous force of Ghal Maraz to our-’
Tahlia brought the Hammer of Zeal down on one of the seams connecting two plates. Rivets popped, metal bending back as the daemonic energies within the creature burst free.
Telemon’s helmet turned towards her, featureless golden mask radiating disdain. Still, the Lord-Celestant’s faith was apparently not so rigid as to ignore a good opportunity, and he joined Tahlia in battering the creature’s armour to shapeless ruin.
A great shudder ran through the thing. Tahlia threw an arm around the nearest spike, struggling to keep her footing.
Rather than grip a spike as Tahlia had done, Telemon simply fell forward to impale himself upon one of the smaller ones. With two feet of bloody steel protruding from his armoured back, the Stormcast flung his hammeraside to grip the edge of the broken seam.
Tahlia could only watch, speechless, as Telemon slowly bent back the iron plate, widening the wound.
Tahlia would have gladly let the fool martyr himself, except that she needed the Lord-Celestant for the rest of her plan. With a groan, she raised the Hammer of Zeal. Jaw tight against the agony in her injured shoulder, Tahlia waved the glittering weapon.
For a moment, she thought it was too late. Then Infernadine was beside her, wing beats whipping the air into a frenzied tempest. Tahlia dropped from the spoke. Catching a handful fo the manticore’s thick mane, she managed to drag herself onto his neck.
‘Let us split this hellforged beast open.’ Tahlia leaned low, shouting to be heard over the creature’s furious howls. ‘But first fetch me that fool of a Stormcast.’
With a snarling yowl, Infernadine hooked a claw under Telemon’s pauldron and dragged the Lord-Celestant from his bloodied spike. Tahlia felt Infernadine’s shoulders tense as he bit down on the edge of the massive construct’s wound and pulled. Runes flashed and sputtered, the screech of escaping daemonic energies louder than the creature itself.
Rgere was a moment of resistance. Then, with the pop of failing rivets, the entire plate came free. Aetheral flame gouted from the construct’s innards. Rather than be consumed, Infernadine sprang from its back, flapping like a startled cinderswan.
At last, Tahlia dared to release her death grip on the manticore, crawling along his back to climb unsteadily into the Throne Memoriam.
Despite the Stormcasts’ and scarab riders’ best efforts, the siegeworks remained distressingly intact. Lines of dark-armoured soldiers hurried from the camp, hallberd and fusil levelled at the retreating cavalry. Although the Hallowed Knights still held the central bulward, their numbers grew thinner by the moment.

‘If you can hear me, you great golden ox, now is the time for a bit of storm.’
Telemon’s helmet lifted. One gauntleted hand came up, fingers spread.
At his order, several Knights-Arcanum stepped from admist the battling Stormcasts. Eyes flashing with azure brilliance, they spoke words of power into the smoky air. High above the camp, clouds churned. There was a distant tearing sound, sharp and sudden, like a sheaf of parchment being ripped in half. Then the skies opened.
Lightning crackled from above. Drawn to the tallest structures, the bolts arced down the scaffolds metal beams to ignite the blasting charges piled around their bases.

Smoking scaffolds tumbled to the earth. Blackened girders rained down upon the approaching Helsmith reinforcements, who withrew in distressingly good order.

They punished the Helsmith bulwarkds, aiming not for precision but for sheer volume. A few Helsmith cannons managed a shot at the retreating cavalry, but for once their fire was a platry thing. Soon, Tahlia’s raiders were back behind the city walls.

‘Sarukh plans to flood the lava channels.’ The words tumbled out. ‘He has altered the warding runes and deployed an inferno engine in the channels that will cause the lava to break free. Ghyra’s outer walls will be flooded. Entire strata could be lost.’

1 Like
15

Helsmiths turn their siege engines into bridges (page 238)

Once above the crest of the wall, Tahlia saw what had set the Azyrites scurrying. Impossibly, the Helsmiths had repurposed their fallen siegeworks. Turned horizontal and fitted with wheels, engines and bolted panels, the scaffolds became makeshift bridges. Behind the twisted bulk came a hrode of snargling hobgrots, their numbers obscured by the gouts of yellow smoke belching from the daemonic engines.
Although Ruldry’s artillery crews targeted the new bruidges, they hardly shifted beneath the bombardment, shielded by armoured plates and sheer bulk.

As it was, she was forced to watch as the covered bridges vomited forth streams of hobgrots and corrupt duardin. Throughout it all, the enemy artillery continued to fire, unmindful of the ordanance that exploded among their own troops.

1 Like
16

Brief comment on Helsmiths artillery (page 244)

Tahlia risked a glance over the wall. There was little to see amidst the choking clouds. The Helsmith rockets were packed with a chemical mixture that ignited on impact, blanketing the entire wall in acrid smoke. She had seen corrupt duardin among the initial wave of besiegers, but they seemed content to remain behind their heavy iron mantlets, dividing their fire between the defenders and any hobgrot who tried to flee.

1 Like
17

Inferno Engine, constructs and fleeing grots (pages 246-248)

Hobgrot ladder teams swarmed across the broken ground, driven forward by Helsmith gunners. The corrupt duardin sheltered behind heavy wheeled mantlets, mobile screens of iron that shielded them the defenders above. Beyond, the lava challens crisscrossed the land like glittering veins. Tahlia could just make out the flickering runes along their upper wals.
A burst of flame drew here attention. At first, she thought it was the lava rising, but from her vantage Tahlia was able to pick out tiny forms struggling along the edge of the canal. Although she could not make out individual soldiers, Tahlia recognised the bulky outline of furnace plate. They were battling towards something positioned at the side of the canal.
Although Sarukh Soulburn was nowhere to be seen, his cruel hand was evident in every aspect of the machine’s construction. Large enough to house a squadron of steam tanks, it was a collection of boilers and rune-etched furnaces. A tangle of brazen pipes extended down into the canal below, metal glowing with the heat of the lava. Stone obelisks rose from atop the engine. Bright as forge steel, they were incised with constellations of sparking wards.
A phalanx of Helsmiths warded the inferno engine, their squat, armoured forms dwarfed by a pair of humanoid machines. Although smaller than the massive siege construct Tahlia and Telemon had destroyed, these were still as tall as an ogor and twice as broad. They were made of brass-chased steel, their arms ended in massive spiked maces, a great glowing furnace in their chests belching out bursts of coruscating flame. The brutal constructs waded into Galain’s troops, scattering bodies like children kicking through high grass.
Tahlia called out, a futile gesture at this distance. A moment, and Wintrath was at her side.
‘First Marshal?’
She raised a hand toward the slaughter.
The Azyrite gave vent to a surprisingly creative collection of curses.
‘I’ll send word to Ruldry to target the damned thing.’
‘In this smoke?’ Tahlia asked between coughs. ‘They’d be lucky to come within a hundred paces.’
‘Should we send reinforcements?’ Wintrath asked.
Tahlia gave a frustrated grunt. ‘The field is crawling with enemy gunners. They’d be shot to pieces before they made it a hundred paces.’
They watched helplessly as the hulking Helsmith war machines sent a dozen soldiers tumbling into the canal.

A thin cheer drew Tahlia’s attention from the struggle around Sarukh’s inferno engine. On the battlements, Freeguild soldiers were clashing weapons against shields, their shouts more relieved than war-like as the hobgrots fled back down the ladders. It seemed Sarukh’s fodder had finally grown sick of dying. Although the Helsmiths fired into the retreeating grots, it did little to halt their headlong flight. Shrieking like damned shades, they swarmed over the iron mantlets. Although the grots seemed mostly interested in fleeing, Tahlia saw more than one mantlet crew butchered.
Like a great cogwork idol, the Helsmith army shifted. Companies of heavily armoured infantry moved to stop the hobgrots from overwhelming the siege lines. Bull centaurs charged from the murk, trampling packs of fleeing grots. Tahlia’s eye widened as she saw several squads of Sarukh’s elite warriors and one of the ogor-sized war machines turn from Galain’s soldiers to stump towards the fighting.
They massacred the fleeing grots with singular will. The Helsmiths proved as uncompromising in vengeance as they were in every other task.

‘Far from it.’ Tahlia stowed Justice across her back and tightened her gauntlet straps. ‘We’re sallying out.’
‘Madness,’ Altenback said.
‘Even if we managed to get clear of the wall, the Helsmith gunners would make meat of us.’ Farrow joined Tahlia at the edge of the battlement. ‘You’re not thinking clearly.’
‘My thoughts are clearer than they’ve been in a long while. Look.’
Tahlia swept a gauntleted hand across the Helsmith battle line. Their fire had slackened, squads of red-armoured warriors struggling with swarms of fleeing hobgrots. ‘The Helsmiths are relentless and single-minded. Their pride can’t countenance betrayal. If we strike while they are distracted, Sarukh will be forced to either pull forces from the inferno engine or see his battle line overrun.’

1 Like
18

Helsmiths in open field and Daemonsmith destroying stormcast (pages 251-253)

In her long career as a soldier, Tahlia had had the dubious pleasure of holding the line against everything from Skavenslaves to Soul Grinders. She had faced down hordes of Darkoath Marauders and Kruelboy snipers, and even an especially unreasonable Fyrelsayer lodge.
None of it prepared her to fight the Helsmiths in open field.
Shields locked, axes at the ready, the enemy advanced like an armoured glacier, pressing the Freeguild line with fearsome efficiency. Although shorter than their Freeguild opponents, the Helsmiths’ wide stances and low centre of balance served them well.
Despite Tahlia’s best efforts, Wintrath slid back anaother step. Days of rain had turned the battlefield into a boggy nightmare. Tahlia’s left foot slipped into a patch of slurry, wet mud and squelching up over the top of her boots. Pinned between Wintrath and the rear ranks, she felt her breastplate creak, pressure squeezing the air from her lungs.
Rather than try to regain her foot, Tahlia shifted to bring Justice down. Like a furnace tender fishing out a stubborn bit of slag, she hooked the beak of the axe over the shield of the Helsmith facing Wintrath. Injured shoulder screaming, she managed to drag the shield aside.
Wintrath was quick to thrust his blade into the gap. The corrupt duardin gave a gurgling cough as the marshal’s sword slipped down into the hollow of his throat. For a blessed moment, the pressure relented and Tahlia was able to snatch a greedy breath. Wintrath took a staggering step forward, but the momentum was short-lived as more Helsmiths piled into the rear ranks of their formation.
Tahlia risked a glance down the line. Although the Sigmarites held, the wings of the formation were beginning to curl back. Soon they would be surrounded and the real slaughter would begin.
Tahlia raised Justice above her head, her cry echoed by the surrounding soldiers. Azyrite, Verdian and Parcher, Stormcast and former rebels, they had followed Tahlia from the safety of Ghyra’s high walls and out into the killing field.
It had been a doomed charge from the first. Even with packs of hobgrots running wild, the Helsmiths outnumbered the defenders by a wide margin. With their ordered ranks and daemonic war machines there was no hope of breaking through the enemy. But the Sigmarites did not need to break through. They only needed to hold.
A brazen flash dragged Tahlia’s gaze skyward. Finally, Sarukh Soulburn had deigned to join the battle. Perched atop a massive, bronze-winged bull, the Daemonsmith wheeled high above the conflict, well out of artillery range. Although she could not see Sarukh, Tahlia could well imagine the self-satisfied smile on his tusked face.
As Tahlia watched, a trio of Prosecutors took flight from amidst their Stormcast brethren. Wings blazing with cerulean flame, they arrowed towards the Daemonsmith. Ponderously, the brazen Taurus turned towards the threat, an eagle beset by furious starlings.
The foremost of the Prosecutors exploded in a ball of daemonic flame. Tahlia had not even seen Sarukh’s sorcery, just the terrible result. The remaining pair of winged Stormcasts darted around the streak of lightning that reclaimed the soul of their fallen comrade only to meet the full fury of the Daemonsmith’s arcane might.
A burst of snarled energy consumed the leftmost Prosecutor. The one on the right simply tumbled from the sky, a trail of oily smoke leaking from ruined wings. Almost lazily, Sarukh’s mount speared the falling Stormcast on its long horns.

The Silverspine to Wintrath’s left cried out as he was hamstrung by an enemy blade. Tahlia grabbed the straps of his armour, trying to drag him from the front line. But there was nowhere to go. Their eyes met. Tahlia saw the soldier’s face brighten with recognition, hope flimmering through the mud and blood.
‘Lioness-’
The man’s armour strap gave way and he was gone, dragged down by the unreasoning tides of battle.

Tahlia stepped up beside Wintrath.
Ignoring the marshal’s curses, she set her feet and brought Justice arcing down. It bit into the upper edge of the Helsmith’s shield. He twisted to try and drag the axe from Tahlia’s grip. She went with the momentum, letting go with one hand to punch the Helsmith. Although the beast’s tusks bloodied Tahlia’s knuckles, she felt his nose break.
As he stumbled back, Tahlia gripped Justice again. Throwing her entire weight behind the blow, she drove the axe forward like a spear. Something hit her blind side, hard enough to spoil Tahlia’s thrust. She turned to see another Helsmith raising his axe again. Blood streaming down his beard, the injured soldier thrust Tahlia back. Off balance, her weapon pinned, Tahlia would have lost her head had Wintrath not interposed his shield.

1 Like
19

Tahlia and Infernadine against Sarukh and his Infernal Taurus (pages 257-266)

The winged bull charged.
Infernadine twisted to avoid a bolt of ruinous energy, another blackening several skulls atop the Trhone Memoriam. Tahlia spared an amused glance for the traitors’ remains.
‘Hope you felt that.’
Wary of the bull’s bulk, Infernadine angled to avoid the charge, raking a claw along the breast’s brazen flank. One heavy wing caught the manticore just behind the shoulder. Although it was only a glancing blow, the buffet caused Infernadine to spin in the air.
Snatching up a harness chain for support, Tahlia swung the Hammer of Zeal only to be hurled back against the throne as Sarukh conjured a maelstrom of daemonic energy. Runes flared magma-bright as the ruinous power sheeted over the Throne Memoriam. Although the wards held against the onslaught, more than a few burned away.
Undaunted, Tahlia hefted the Hammer of Zeal. Sarukh sat upon an elaborate throne of worked bronze, its heavy arms and high back glowing in the unnatural heat of the Tarus. Although the Daemonsmith had exhanged his robes for battle plate, he still wore the Crown of Souls. Gems glinted evilly in the light, seeming alive with the futile struggles of the spirits trapped within.
With a booming bellow, the Taurus slammed its head into Infernadines side. Although they were too close for the beast to bring its horns to bear, the sheer weight of the bull’s bronze head was enough to drive a pained snarl from the manticore. He broke away, circling warily, one paw curled to his chest.
Rather than charge, the Tarus remained where it was, wings beating the air.
‘I had hoped we would cross paths again.’ The Daemonsmith’s voice cut the air between them. ‘In your haste to flee Galek Zharr, you seemed to have forgotten your possessions.’
It was then Tahlia noticed the sword affixed to the baxk of his throne. Parchtongue had been secured to the metal with brands of enscorcelled bronze, blade pointing heavenward like an accusatory finger. The sword hung cold and dark, its fury smothered by Sarukh’s enchantments.
With a mocking grin, the Daemonsmith raised Warmaker. ‘Awkward and front-heavy, but I should expect as much from Sigmarite smiths.’ He gave the mace and experimental swing. ‘My people make shovels with better balance.’
‘A weapon is only as good as its wielder.’ Tahlia’s smile was feral.
‘Why don’t you come over here and I’ll give you a few pointers?’
Sarukh’s grin turned ugly. ‘I shall enjoy breaking your bones, although not as much as what is to come.’ He tapped the crown. ‘Did you think you had escaped, Lioness? You have merely delayed the inevitable. I will claim your soul just as I claim your pitiful city.’
There came a stuttering boom from below, then the high whine of steam escaping from cracked pipes. Tahlia risked a glance down, and was heatened to see figures struggling atop the inferno engine.
‘Might want to rethink those boasts.’ She had to shout to be heard over the rush of wind. ‘Wouldn’t want to embarras yourself in front of the ziggurat.’
Even at two-score paces, Tahlia could see a flush spread from the roots of Sarukh’s beard. He pointed Warmaker at her, and with a thrust of brazen wings the Taurus shot across the intervening distance.
Snarling, Infernadine flew to meet him.
It took only a few moments for Tahlia to realise they were over-matched. Although Infernadine was more agile than Sarukh’s metal bull, a few days of rest and regular meals had hardly made up for weeks of scavenging the inhospitable Ghyran jungles around Galek Zharr.
Infernadine avoided the Taurus’ initial charge, but the bull was as relentless as its master. Infernadine’s claws left shallow gashes on the Taurus’ metallic hide, its unnatural flesh proof against his envenomed stinger. Tireless as cogwork, the bull charged again, and again, and again. It snorted great gouts of slame, nostrills billowing astringent smoke that burned Tahlia’s throat. Infernadine’s breaths came punctuated by rasping coughs, his strikes slower. The space between the manticore and bull grew narrower with each pass.
Though it all, Sarukh sat upon his throne like a grinning idol, stone fist resting upon one though. Warmaker held almost casually in the other hand. Buoyed by the power of the Crown of Souls, Tahlia had no doubt the Daemonsmith could unleash all manner of ruinous sorceries. It could have been over in a few moments, but it seemed merely killing Tahlia was not enough for Sarukh Soulburn. He wanted her broken in body, mind, and soul.
So he sat. Smug as a marshal riding at the head of a triumph, Sarukh watched his bronze beast slowly grind Infernadine down.
Unable to shout for fear of scourging her lungs with noxious smoke, Tahlia swung her hammer at the Tarus. Glancing blows, as Tahlia was unable to find footing.
Infernadine’s body bent like a longbow, narrowily avoiding the bull’s stabbing horns. Brazen wings lashed the air. Heavy as a castle gate, one struck Infernadine’s flank. Tahlia’s stomach lurched as they spun, the horizon flipping end over end. It was as if they sky had become a storm-tossed sea. Great smoky breakers battered them from all sides. Tahlia clung to the Throne Memoriam like a drowning woman.
Then, with a snap, Infernadine’s wings caught the air once more.
Tahlia was slammed back into the throne. Splinters cut into her cheek as the Hammer of Zeal rebounded from one of the throne’s arms. Painful as it was, it might have been Tahlia’s skull had she not managed to maintain a sweaty grip on the haft.
Never one to put pride before survival, Tahlia would have gladly turned from the fight. But whatever hope they had of destroying the inferno engine would gutter like a windblown torch if the Daemonsmith joined the battle.
She pushed up, spitting blood, only to see a brazen shadow fall over them. Infernadine flailed against uncaring winds, fighting to right himself. Like a hermitic oracle, Tahlia foresaw the next few moments with perfect clarity. long horns would pierce the manticore’s side, driven deep by tons of bronze. Infernadine would crumble like old iron, dropping from the sky in a welter of blood and broken bone.
A heartbeat before her dire vision came to pass, Tahlia moved.
Rather than rely on her overtaxed muscles, she wrapped one arm in Infernadine’s reins. Using her throne as a fulcrum, she swung towards the descending Tarus, Hammer of Zeal transcribing a broad arc through the spoky air.
Perhaps there was some power in the holy iconography that covered the hammer, or perhaps Tahlia’s luck had not quite run out, but the hammer struck true. Head lowered for the charge, the Taurus did not see the blow coming. Tahlia would have rather caved in the bull’s skull, but the strike was enough to snap its head to the side, spoiling the charge.
Time seemed to slow. Like woodcuts laid in sequence, each moment flashed before Tahlia, distinct and inescapable.
One bronze wing clawed at the air, the other crumbled as the Taurus pitched to the side. Spared the killing impact from the beast’s horns, Infernadine shot out from underneath. Only belatedly did the manticore seem to notice Tahlia was no longer on his back. He half turned, amber eyes wide, killing jaws open in a surprised yowl.
Then the bulk of the bronze Taurus crashed into Tahlia. The impact crumpled her pauldron and sent the Hammer of Zeal spinning from numbed hands. Somehow she managed to throw up an arm to keep from cracking her skull on the beast’s metallic shoulder. Had Tahlia been standing on solid ground, her legs would have shattered. But the collision merely sent her tumbling into empty air.
Battered, bruised and weaponless, Tahlia plummeted towards the battlefield. The smoky air whipped tears from her eye, the combatants below reduced to smudges. Shakily, she extented her arms and legs as if to embrace the approaching ground. Although Ghyran was far from her first choice of places to die, it was better than most. At least something would grow from Tahlia’s scattered remains. She hoped it was throny and poisonous, with snarled vines to tear at Helsmith ankles.
A petty revenge, but still enough to bring a smile to Tahlia’s lips. She did not ehar the explosion over the howl of wind, nor did she feel the backwash of heat and flame, but the light was bright enough to fill Tahlia’s tear-blurred vision. Yellow-green fire swirled up from the place where Sarukh’s inferno engine had squatted but moments before. At first, she though the Daemonsmith had succeeded, but although the explosion sent waves of lava lapping over the sides of the channels, they extended in all directions, fury fading long before they reached Ghyra’s walls.
The Verdian bastard had actually done it. Wind whipped the laughter from Tahlia’s lips as lava flooded over the nearest enemy eplacements, war machines ingiting with pops of daemonic fire. Cackling like a mad-woman, Tahlia reconsidered her earlier morbid thought.
Actually, this was a very good way to die.
There was a spiky pressure on Tahlia’s shoulder, a jab of pain echoed by the creak of her much-abused pauldron. Then she was snatched from the air. Legs dangling, arms limp, Tahlia hung like a rag dowll.
A long-suffering growl rumbled through her, the brush of long whiskers light on Tahlia’s cheek. Infernadine gave her a quick shake. Far from the back-breaking snap he used on prey, but still hard enough to make Tahlia’s spine rattle. Irritation properly conveyed, the manticore tossed Tahlia over his shoulder. She sprawled at the foot of her throne, alternatively gasping and laughing.
Below, the inferno engine burned. Reduced to a collection of twisted scrap, its lower section had been sheared away by the explosion and was already sinking into the lava.
A cry fildered down from above. Freightened with anger and disbelief, Sarukh’s scream rolled across Tahlia like a breaking wave.
Unlimbering Justice from the Throne Memoriam, she glared up at the Daemonsmith. Sarukh’s hateful gaze burned into her. One of his mount’s horns was twisted down, the side of its bull face bent, one nostril battered to a mere slit. Tahlia’s hammer strike had enraged the bull. Its brazen flesh seemed to glow with an inner heat, every snort grinding sparks into the smoky air.
Jaw tight against the pain of her injuries, Tahlia raised Justice in a mocking salute, then beckoned to Sarukh.
Goading the Daemonsmith was beyond foolish. Tahlia should have made for the safety of the city walls. There would be orders to issue, regiments to regroup, defences to rebuild. Tahlia was not so optimistic as to believe the destruction of Sarukh’s inferno engine would end the siege. The Daemonsmith’s death might do. But fighting him here? Now? That was a bad decision.
And yet, seldom had a bad decision felt so good.
Sarukh’s Taurus pawed the air, tossing its head with barely restrained anger. From atop his throne, the Daemonsmith pointed warmaker at Tahlia, an inarticulate roar goading his beast to action.
Blasts of daemonic fire and razored winds heralded Sarukh’s charge. Tahlia turned from the arcane avalanche, angling Infernadine into a shallow dive in hops of buying enough time to think of a plan. There would be no help from below. Task accomplished, the Sigmarites were pulling back to the walls. With typical stubbonness, the Helsmiths seemed to have redoubled their bombardment. The air was alive with rockets and blasts of ruinous energy, as if by pounding Ghyra to ruin the enemy hoped to scour away all evidence of their failure. A rocket shrieked towards Infernadine. The manticore twisted away, wings close as he shot clear of the blast.
Rather than avoid the explosion, the Taurus had charged through it. Bits of burning sulpur blackened its bronze flesh, a haze of poisonous mist seeming to cling to the ebast. Although Sarukh banished the flames with a wave of his stone fist, the sight gave Tahlia an idea. She gripped Infernadine’s harness chain. ‘Do you trust me, old friend?’
Intent on keeping ahead of the Taurus, the manticore gave no reply. But neither did he toss Tahlia from his back, which she took as agreement. Rather than avoid the hail of artillery fire, Tahlia angled Infernadine straight towards it.
It was as if they had flown into the Realm of Chaos. The screams of rockets were daggeres in Tahlia’s ears. Her throat burned with acrid sulphur. Crackling gouts of fire rent the clouds asunder. An errant flame licked across Tahlia’s face and the smell of burning hair joined the reek of the Helsmith artillery. Squinting against the glare, she held tight to Infernadine’s harness, guiding the manticore through the devastation as best she could.
Only the most reckless or arrogant would have followed her into this deadly maelstrom. Tahlia knew Sarukh was conceited enough; she only hoped that self-same pride had made the Daemonsmith foolhardy. Still, it was not until she heard the first angry bellow that Tahlia knew her gamble had paid off.
She looked back to see a bolt of coruscating energy shear through the membranne of one of the Taurus’ batlike wings. Too ponderous to dodge the fire, the bull was buffeted by explosions. Sarukh’s sorceries might have been powerful enough to shield his mount from an errant blast, but even with the Crown of Souls he could not hope to equal the full fury of his Helsmith kin.
Wards sparked, profane sigils burning like beacons as they were consumed by unholy flames. Rather than cease their fire, the enemy below continued in earnest. It might have been wishful thinking, but Tahlia thought some of the gun crews might have even turned their weapons towards the Daemonsmith. A viciua torrent of energy scythed into the Taurus’ flank. Although not a direct hit, it was close enough to reduce the beast’s rear leg to dripping slag.
Even with his mount wounded, Sarukh continued in his struggle to reach Tahlia. Had the air been clear, Infernadine would have easily outdistanced the Taurus, but the dips and dodges necessary to avoid being burned alive slowed his flight, whereas the bull charged through the blasts with all the finesse of a cannonball.
Tahlia met the charge, slipping below an exploding rocket to hit the Taurus at an angle. She was almost thrown from her throne as Infernadine slammed into the beast’s side. Fanged maw clamped tight on the back of the bull’s neck, the manticore tore at the thing.
Tahlia ducked the sweet of a bronze wing, bent almost double as she dashed down Infernadine’s back to leap at Sarukh’s throne. She could not afford to allow the Daemonsmith time to summon more sorcery.
Tahlia was delighted to see Sarukh recoil in surprise as Justice’s heavy blade sheared through one of his throne’s bronze arms. There was little room to manoeuvre atop the Taurus’ pitching back, but Tahlia managed to hook a foot around one of the more elaborate embellishments. Even so, she barely raised Justice in time to block Sarukh’s swing.
The jewelled weight of Warmaker almost sent Tahlia tumbling from the bronze bull. Weapons locked, without room to disengage, she and Sarukh strained for position. The Daemonsmith stood atop the wide seat of his throne, face level with Tahlia’s as he pressed forward, using Warmakers bulk to force Justice down.
‘You think to attack me? Me?’ Flecks of burning ash bled from Sarukh’s tusked mouth, stippling Tahlia’s face with bright points of heat. ‘They name you Lioness, but you are nothing more than another toothless beast. No better than the scores I have ground to dust.’
By way of reply, Tahlia butted himin the face.
It was just as satisfying as the first time.
Dakr blood sheeting into his beard, Sarukh spoke words of hateful power. Ruinous incantations blistered the air, the battered wards on Tahlia’s armour little proof against the Daemonsmith’s arcane might.
Justice grew impossibly heavy. Tahlia’s arms sagged, her legs loose and wooden. Her whole body felt distant, as if she were watching from the end of a long, misty tunnel. Atop Sarukh’s head, the gems circling the Crown of Souls glimmered like baleful eyes. The sounds of battle faded, smoke and explosions little more than a half-remembered dream. Dimly, Tahlia knew Infernadine still fought, but the moments seemed to slow, caught like ash flies in drying amber.
Soon, there was nothing save Tahlia and Sarukh.
‘Did you believe you thwarted my ritual back at Galek Zharr?’ The Daemonsmith’s voice seemed to come from all around her, his tusked grin heavy with malice. ‘Postponed, perhaps, but worry not. Sarukh Soulburn does not forget. Neither does he forgive.’
Amidst the vicious constellation of gems, one seemed to grow in brightness. Its misty glow illuminated Tahlia’s sight. Smoke twisted and roiled, an unnatural form rising through the gloom like a swimmer surfacing on a bilious sea. Tahlia did not need to see the daemon to recognise its shape, nor know whose face it wore.
‘I have prepared a place for you,’ Sarukh said, voice almost tender. He brought his stone fist down upon Justice’s haft, tearing the axe from Tahlia’s weakened grip. Head swimming, she stumbled to one knee, grabbing the foot of the throne like some hopeless supplicant. Tossing Warmaker aside with contemptuous sneer, Sarukh settled back into his seat.
‘Resist, submit, it’s of no matter.’
‘Vidurn, please. If any part of you remains, help me.’ The plea slipped from Tahlia’s lips. She clutched at the arms of the throne, pulling herself up.
‘I am afraid there is nothing he can do. Your comrade is but a tool, now. As wilful as a hammer or blade.’ Sarukh reached up to tap Parchtongue, the sword set into the back of his throne with bands of enscorcelled bronze. ‘All serve me, just as your pitiful marshal does.’
The Daemonsmith tilted his head to bring another gem into view. Within, Tahlia saw an echo of Vidurn’s ravaged features. It was not the marshal’s face that unnerved her, but his eyes. They gazed from bruised hollows, barren as blasted stone. There was no anger, no sorrow, no despair. Not even the faintest spark of self glimmered in Vidurn’s eyes.
‘Look well, Lioness.’ Sarukh caught Tahlia’s chin, dragging her forward with terrible strength. ‘See the destiny I have wrought for you and your people.’
Tahlia raised an unsteady hand, fingers trembling.
Amused, Sarukh made no move to stop her. ‘Now you begin to understand. This was inevitable. Once my gaze fell upon you, there was no outcome save that which I chose. Hope is a mirage cast by your narrow comprehension. You could not see the end, and therefore believed you could escape it. But I see all, an unmoved mover, fate itself hammered around the shape of my desire.’
Tahlia let the Daemonsmith babble, focusing her failing strength on reaching past the crown. her fingers brushed Parchtongue’s dull blade, creeping slowly to the drakehide-wrapped hilt.
Sarukh paused in his self-congratulatory prattle to glance back. Muttering a prayer, Tahlia squeezed her eyes shut as her hand closed around Parchtongue.
Sarukh’s snort dusted Tahlia’s face with soot. ‘Insolent beast. Even now you fail to understand the enormity of my-’
The Daemonsmith’s words melted into a scream as Parchtongue ignited.

1 Like
20

Battle ends (pages 267-270)

Like waves filling a hole in sand, Tahlia’s awarness came rushing back, and with it the strength in her limbs. One fist wrapped around Parchtongue, she threw herself at the flailing Daemonsmith, pressing him back into the white-hot blade.Sarukh’s hair ignited. Gold from the charms woven into his beard cut glittering tracks down his chest.
He pawed at Tahlia, beating at her with his fists of flesh and stone. Still she held the Daemonsmith tight. Close as lovers, Tahlia watched Sarukh’s panic turn to agony as he twisted upon his burning throne.
Although Parchtongue’s blaze could not harm her, the same could not be said of the fires it started. Flame licked Tahlia’s arms, caressed her face with sorching fingers.
Watching the Daemonsmith die was worth every bit of pain.
As if sensing its master’s demise, the Taurus gave a heavy shudder, the move so violent as to almost tear Tahlia from the throne. She tightened her grip as even the Daemonsmith’s struggles grew weaker.
Atop Sarukh’s head, the Crown of Souls glowed like forge-fresh steel. Then, its high crest began to slump. One by one, the gems burst, wisps of soulstuff threading the smoky air. With a soft sigh, the crown collapsed in on itself. Rivulets of molten metal ran down Sarukh’s face, searing his flesh.
At last, Tahlia released the Daemonsmith. Pushing back, she drew Parchtongue from the ruined bonds that had once held the blade prisoner.
On his sorched and blackened throne, Sarukh Soulburn twitched once then fell still.
The Taurus went rigid below her, the Daemonsmith’s death apparently shattering whatever sorceries had animated the wretched thing. Tahlia would have liked to snatch up Justice and Warmaker, but they could be saved later. Unlike her lfie.
One hand pressed to her mouth, she pushed from the throne. Wind shrieked in her ears, eclipsed by the crackling hum of the runes etched into the Taurus’ bronze hide. Sparks swirled up from the inscriped Helsmith enchantments. Tahlia could feel the heat through the soles of her boots.
Desperately, she cast about for Infernadine, but could see nothing but smoke. The Taurus turned in the air, forcing Tahlia to grab the melted back of Sarukh’s throne. A moment, and she would be tipped into the empty air.
A shadow flitted by, little more than a winged blur in the gloom. Trusting her fate to Sigmar, Tahlia leapt. There was a sickening lurch as the manticore flashed past just out of reach. Then Tahlia was falling.
Although unable to turn his massive body, Infernadine twisted in the air, scorpion stinger lashing down. Tahlia flung out a hand to grip the tail.
Broad wings beat at the air and Tahlia was thrown about like a staw doll. Rough chitin gouged furrows in her palm. Hot blood welled between her fingers, her hand slipping. An eyeblind before her grip gave way, Infernadine curled his tail up, unceremoniously flinging Tahlia onto his back.
She scrabbled onto her battered throne, there to slump like the bones of some ancient warlord. Chest heaving, she blinked back stinging tears, her gaze drawn inexorably towards the falling bull. The inscryptions on its bronze hide burned bright as funeral pyre as it tumbled towards the Helsmith lines. Although the thud of the Taurus’ impact was swallowed by the wind, Tahlia still heard the thunderous boom as the volatile sorceries contained within the bull’s bronze form burst free.
The explosion rolled across the siegeworks, answered by a number of smaller booms as rockets and cannon shot detonated. Helsmiths were flung from the low battlements, burning like tiny, corrupt stars. Those closer to the impact were simply annihilated where they stood. Although the explosion destroyed only a portion of the ramparts, it seemed to have caught the Helsmiths’ attention.
The sound of their vile artillery slowed, a terrible heartbeat fading at last to the stillness of death. Groups of Helsmiths abandoned their weapons to make for the surrounding forest. Without the protection of their metal ramparts, they made easy targets for the Ironweld cannons.
It would have been the perfect time to strike, but Tahlia had only to glance at the Freeguild lines to see her soldiers were as battered as she was.

They came like wind-driven leaves. Dryads charged through the drifted ash, their shrieks sharper than their gnarled talons. Packs of Tree-Revenants vaulted over tattered ramparts, scythes reaping a bloody harvest. Tahlia saw Kynaleth at the head of a pack of Sylvaneth warriors. Arrows arced up from the forst, razored tips glimmering briefly before they fell like rain among the Helsmiths.
Tahlia watched a massive Treelord kick through a Helsmith barricade. Bark sparking with gunfire, it leaned low, sweeping a score of warriors aside like twists of burning grass. Winged archers darted over the battle like hunting dragonflies. Their shots seemed to do little damage at first, arrows crumpling as they struck heavy Helsmith plate. But those hit reeled back, dropping weapons and shields to claw at their armour. One enemy soldier ripped off his helmet to reveal a face spotted with fat-bodied grubs, mandibles gnashing as they bored into his flesh.
Roots burst from the ravaged earth. Animated by Branchwhych enchantments, they wrapped around wheels and slithered into barrels and exhaust pipes. Cannons burst from the pressure, crews consumed in a maelstrom of daemonic energy.

If the Sylvaneth wished to be the root that finally cracked the stone, Tahlia was more than happy to leave the forest spirits to their vengeance. Sigmar’s teeth, the Helsmiths more than deserved it.

1 Like