‘Hoffman! Captain! What are you doing?’
‘Fool,’ Hoffman grunted, baring his teeth. ‘You walked right into it, didn’t you?’
Goetz didn’t bother to reply. Instead he lashed out with a foot and kicked the man in the knee. Hoffman wobbled, and Goetz brought his sword down on the man’s neck. Blood spurted, and Hoffman squealed. His sword licked out as he clamped a hand onto the gouting wound. Goetz jerked back as the sword-point carved a line across his throat-guard. The sword in the militia commander’s hand darted out again and again, snake-swift. Goetz parried desperately as Hoffman shuffled in pursuit.
‘Die,’ Hoffman gurgled.
‘You first,’ someone called out. A bow string twanged and Hoffman froze as an arrow sprouted from between his eyes. He croaked, the sword falling from his fingers. Then he toppled. Goetz leaned on his sword, breathing heavily.
‘Lothar?’ he said, blinking sweat out of his eyes.
‘I never liked him much,’ the forester said, stalking out of the trees. ‘Now I know why.’ He paused to spit on Hoffman’s body, then looked at Goetz. ‘You fought well, sir knight.’
‘What – what–’
‘We ambushed the ambushers. Came up behind them and cut their throats,’ Lothar said, jerking a thumb across his throat. He gestured to Hoffman. ‘Didn’t expect that, though.’
‘Expect what?’
‘This,’ Lothar said, dropping to his haunches and grabbing Hoffman’s head. He pulled the dead man’s gorget aside and exposed the eerily familiar brand on his flesh. He bared his teeth in a vicious grin. ‘It was a trap.’
‘For who?’ Goetz said.
‘You. Us. Anybody.’ Lothar let Hoffman’s body flop back down and stood. ‘Looks like about half of them were in on it with Hoffman. Likely intended to capture or kill the other half. And you.’
‘Why?’
‘Something’s going on out here, in the deep woods. Hear the drums?’
‘Yes,’ Goetz said absently, staring down out the body.
‘Happens sometimes, when the moons are up and fat. Drums deep in the trees, and hoof-marks in the loam.’ Lothar spat. ‘Didn’t realise it until I saw them back at the mill. Only one reason the twisted folk take ours…’
‘Sacrifices,’ Goetz said. ‘Sigmar’s Hammer. He said something about a celebration.’ He looked at Lothar. ‘Where are they?’
‘Waiting for these to join them,’ Lothar said, kicking the body. ‘And for them in the forest who set off the ambush.’ He shook his head. ‘Wondered why them in the city were slow about going for help.’
Goetz grimaced. ‘They’re in the town. A cult… Myrmidia preserve them.’
‘Not many, likely. Volgen isn’t that big. Those here in the forest worry me more,’ the forester said. ‘Those and them they took.’ He looked at Goetz. ‘What are your orders, sir knight?’
Goetz hesitated. Of the thirty men in the militia, only eight or so remained standing. And they looked as out of sorts as he felt. Confused, wounded and on the verge of running for safety. This wasn’t their land, and the temptation to leave was likely great. He licked his lips. ‘If we headed back,’ he said, not quite asking.
‘Then whatever them drums mean will be done and over, and them as sounding them will be gone.’
Goetz closed his eyes. The faces of the dead swam up out of his memories to meet him. He thought of the people they’d been unable to save, and the one they had, though likely too late for her own mind. His eyes opened. ‘We go where we are needed and we do what we must.’
Lothar nodded brusquely. He shouted orders to his men as Goetz faced the remaining members of the militia. They watched him warily. ‘You can’t make us do this,’ one said. ‘You can’t.’
‘Twenty-four men stand better odds than sixteen,’ Goetz said. He used his sword to prod a body. ‘They led you into a slaughter. Would you have others suffer the same fate?’ he said gently. He touched the comet on his cuirass. ‘We go where we are needed,’ he said, trying to capture the hochmeister’s cadence.
None of them looked at him. He sighed. ‘I’m going. Come with us or not.’ He started towards the foresters. He did not turn around when he heard the militiamen fall in behind him.
They moved swiftly through the forest, following the pounding sound. It rose and fell, and the ache in Goetz’s head grew. It was spiritually painful, like a soreness in his soul. It pulsed like a blister or a bad tooth, growing worse the closer they got to wherever they were going.
He had fallen into a rhythm when Lothar suddenly broke it with a hard jerk on his arm. ‘Stop!’ the forester hissed. He made a sharp motion and the men sank to the ground. He pulled Goetz with him as he crawled forward through the heavy brush towards a strange, flickering brightness that seemed to seep between the trees.
Below them, at the bottom of a slope, beasts danced beneath the dark pines, pawing the soil around a crackling fire and braying out abominable hymns. Mingled amongst the brute forms of the beasts were the smaller shapes of men and women. All were naked, save for unpleasant sigils daubed onto their flesh by means of primitive dyes and paints.
The shriek of crude pipes slithered beneath the trees, their rhythms carrying the gathered throng into berserk ecstasy as the dance sped up. The flames curled higher, turning an unhealthy hue, casting a weird light over the proceedings as man and beast engaged in unholy practices. As vile as it was, however, Goetz couldn’t look away from the foul spectacle, no matter how much he might wish to.
What drew his eye, however, was something infinitely worse than the dancers. Something fouler even than the worst thing he could have expected.
‘Taal,’ Lothar whispered, his voice hoarse and his eyes wide. ‘What is it?’
‘Something that doesn’t belong here,’ Goetz said, running his fingers across the double-tailed comet embossed on his breastplate. And it was. A vast scar in the earth near the bonfire, it was like a scab of blackened dirt. Whatever it was, it had pushed aside trees and rocks in its haste to reach the surface and now it sat like a pustule ready to burst. There was a stink about it, worse than anything Goetz had smelled before, even in a greenskin camp. And from its pearly surface came the aching hum that had plagued them all since they’d entered the forest.
As he and the forester watched, a burly creature with a leprous stag’s head shoved a squalling man into the milky surface of the foul bubble. He sank in with a shriek, his struggles seemingly pulling him deeper. A moan arose from the huddled group of victims, and snarling beastmen reached in among them to find the next sacrifice.
Lothar half-rose, a curse on his lips. Goetz grabbed his arm. ‘No. Get your men into position.’ Lothar stared at him incredulously. Goetz licked his lips and looked back at the fire. It seemed to play tricks on his eyes, showing him first this many gathered around it, then fewer. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. He spat and continued. ‘There are too many of them. More than twice our number. Your foresters will soften them up. How quickly can your men get into position?’ he asked.
‘Quick enough,’ Lothar said. He patted his bow. ‘What will you do?’
‘A quick charge might be enough to scatter them. At least long enough for us to save the prisoners.’
‘If it’s not?’
Goetz swallowed. ‘Then run. As fast and as far as you can.’
Lothar nodded and clapped a hand to Goetz’s shoulder. Then he crawled back towards his men. Goetz waited, listening to the dim crackle of the fire and trying to ignore the throb of the thing in the clearing. He did not look at it, or dwell upon it.
He knew little of the things of Chaos, but he knew enough. It would have to be fire. That was the only way to be sure.
Behind him, he heard the trill of a bird. Seconds later, the air was heavy with the hiss of arrows and crossbow bolts. Down below, things screamed in pain. With a shout, Goetz rose to his feet and charged down the slope.
He met a thin creature coming the opposite way, its goatish face twisted in an
almost comic expression of shock. Goetz didn’t stop, instead letting his sword take the thing in the neck. Its head flopped free as he landed in the clearing. For a moment, he stood alone as the shock of the sudden barrage of arrows wore off. From behind him, he heard a shout of ‘Talabecland!’ and then he heard nothing but the clash of steel.
The battle was a confused mess of darting shapes and screaming voices. Goetz blundered towards the fire, sweeping his sword out with instinctive skill. He lopped off an offending sword-hand and kicked something with too many limbs away. As screaming faces drew too close, the arrows of the foresters swept them aside.
Goetz ducked and grabbed up a burning brand from the bonfire and turned towards the pestilent mass. It had to be fire. He charged forward, swinging the brand in preparation to throw it.
Something struck him across the back, nearly knocking him back into the fire and slapping the air from his lungs. Flat on his belly, Goetz tried to breathe. He coughed as a raw, animal scent invaded the confines of his helmet. His eyes opened, and he looked up into a face out of nightmare.
The beastman was an ugly thing, all muscle and fang and claw. Piecemeal armoured plates strung together with twine and less savoury things clung to its bulky frame, less protection than decoration. Stag-horns curled up from its flat skull and back in on themselves. Dark eyes glared balefully at him from beneath heavy brows, and snaggle teeth snapped together in a deer’s mouth, its foul breath misting in the cold air as it grunted querulously. Using his sword as a crutch, Goetz levered himself to his knees and stifled a groan. His body felt like a bag of broken sticks.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. He could hear the gentle rumble of the river in the distance, somewhere past the crooked, close-set pines of the forest. The beastman pawed the ground and snorted. Some of them, it was said, could speak. This one showed no such inclination. Instead, it lunged clumsily, swinging its crude axe towards Goetz.
Still on one knee, Goetz guided the blow aside with a twist of his wrist, and countered with his own weak thrust. The beastman stumbled back with an annoyed bleat as his sword sliced a patch of rusty mail from its cuirass. It was larger than the others, larger than Goetz himself by more inches than he cared to consider. Its axe was so much hammered scrap, but no less dangerous for that. It was strong too. Muscles like smooth stones moved under its porous, hairy hide as it swung the blade up again and brought it down towards Goetz’s head. He caught the blow on his sword and grunted at the weight. Equal parts adrenaline and terror helped him surge to his feet, shoving the creature back. Weapons locked, they strained against one another. Goetz blinked as the weird runes scratched into the creature’s axe-blade seemed to squirm beneath his gaze. Its smell, like a slaughterhouse on a hot day, bit into his sinuses and made it hard to breath. Goetz kicked out, catching the creature’s knee. It howled and staggered, and they broke apart.
Steady on his feet now, Goetz stepped back, raising his sword. The beastman clutched its weapon in both hands and gave a throaty snarl. Teeth bared, it bulled towards him. Despite his guard, the edge of the axe skidded across Goetz’s breastplate, dislodging the ornaments of his order and the ribbons of purity he wore in order to announce his status as a novice of the Order of the Blazing Sun. Sparks flew as northern iron met Imperial steel, and Goetz found himself momentarily off balance. The beastman was quick to capitalise. It crashed against him, clawed hand scrabbling at his helm, trying to shove his head back to expose his throat even as it flailed at him awkwardly with its axe.
Smashing the hilt of his sword against its skull, Goetz thrust his forearm against its throat and forced the snapping jaws away from him. They fell, locked together, and rolled across the ground, struggling. Goetz lost hold of his sword, but managed to snatch his dagger from his belt. He drove it into the beastman’s side, angling the blade up, aiming for the heart, his old fencing teacher’s admonitions ringing in his mind. The beastman squealed in pain and clawed at him. He closed his eyes and forced the blade in deeper, ignoring the crunch of bone and the hot wet foulness that gushed suddenly over his gauntlet.
The creature’s struggles grew weaker and weaker until they stopped completely. It expired with a whimper, its limbs flopping down with a relieving finality. Breathing heavily, Goetz pushed the dead weight off of himself and stared up at the stars dancing between the talon-like branches of the pines. The sky seemed to spin.
Grimacing, he climbed to his feet and snatched up his fallen brand. Staggering, he moved towards the mass, which seemed to quiver at his approach. The stink grew heavier, almost solid. He caught a glimpse of bones scattered around it, and in the light of the fire he though he saw something floating within. Something that turned in its bloated womb to look at him with eyes like open wounds.
Deep in the woods, something was being born. Something horrible and beautiful. A whisper of sound caressed his ears, and a lovely voice spoke to him, making promises and predictions. A sweet smell, like sugar on ice tickled his nose, and he hesitated.
What had he been doing? What–
‘Sir knight!’ Lothar roared, lunging past him with his hatchet. The forester struck the thing with the weapon and the hum screamed forth, bringing blood to Goetz’s ears and nose and he bit into his tongue. Screams rose from behind him, but he ignored them, ignored Lothar, ignored it all and concentrated on shoving the burning brand into the sticky foulness. The flames caught quickly and he fell back, coughing as the hum rose to a shrill shrieking whine that seemed to shake the entire clearing.
The promises were gone, swept away by the begging, the pleading notes that sank insidiously into his brain. He slashed at the quivering burning mass with berserk abandon, ignoring the ichors that splashed him and ate into his armour. Ignoring the shrieks that tore at his soul.
The whine faded as he turned away and fell to his knees, leaning on his sword. Goetz looked tiredly at the surviving captives, who squatted in a huddle nearby. They all looked unharmed, save for exhaustion and fear.
‘You’re safe,’ he croaked. ‘We’ve come to take you home. Lothar, get–’ He turned, spotting Lothar’s body lying nearby, his sightless eyes locked on the stars above. Goetz paused, but only for a moment. He pushed himself to his feet and began to rasp orders to his surviving troops.
They would burn the dead. Better than interring them in the foul earth of this place. As he watched his men get to work, Goetz sat wearily on a charred stump. He finally understood why the hochmeister had smiled so sadly that day. There were some bridges that needed burning and some walls that needed shattering, but the cost of doing so was always going to be high.
‘We go where we are needed. We do what must be done,’ Goetz whispered, as he watched bodies get thrown on the pyre and thought of bridges, and the men who built them.
The Inquisition
++Open vox-net++
My most esteemed Lord Inquisitor,
Though the chase was long and cost the lives of several of my retinue, the traitor going by the name Rob Sanders is now within my grasp. Here is the intelligence we have gleaned from him thus far.
Interrogator Kerstromm, Ordo Malleus
What are you working on at the moment?
I’m currently working on a Space Marines Battles novel called Legion of the Damned. The short stories ‘The Long Games at Carcharias’ in Victories of the Space Marines and ‘The Iron Within’ in the Horus Heresy Anthology Age of Darkness were baptisms of fire for me. They were important for showing what I could do with the Adeptus Astartes – and what they could do for me. To be honest, before writing for the Space Marines, I don’t think that I fully appreciated their range – in terms of character, culture and narrative possibility. It was this realisation that led me to pitch Legion of the Damned for the Space Marines Battles series. As you can imagine, the Legion of the Damned need a slightly different approach to most Chapters!
What are you working on next?
Next up will be my contribution for The Primarchs Horus Heresy novella compilation. T
here I shall be sharing pages with HH alumni Nick Kyme, Gav Thorpe and Graham McNeill . I’m pretty thrilled at the prospect and am looking forward to getting inside the inner workings and mindset of the Alpha Legion and their Primarch(s). I’m already a big fan of the Alpha Legion and can’t wait to build on some of Dan Abnett’s excellent work in the Horus Heresy novel Legion, while at the same time exploring exciting new aspects to Alpharius / Omegon’s rather unique participation in the Heresy...
Are there any areas of Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 that you haven’t yet explored that you’d like to in the future?
There are simply too many to choose. The Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 settings are incredibly fertile. My first piece of fiction for Black Library was a Warhammer short story called ‘The Cold Light of Day’, so I am very comfortable pitching ideas in the Old World. It is in the 40K universe that I think the imagination is really let off the leash: so many worlds and so much ‘history’. I’ve started exploring the Imperial Guard in Redemption Corps and the Inquisition in Atlas Infernal. As far as 40K is concerned, something from a Chaos / Chaos Marines perspective would certainly suit my twisted vision of the universe. The Tau interest me also. I’d love to write about a captain in the Imperial navy. I’d go on for pages like this. I’ve been very fortunate with my pitches in the past. I do like a challenge, though. If I was asked to write a novel about a one-legged, Halfling sewer worker beneath the Kislevite city of Praag, I’d like to think that I could make it work. There you go: already thinking about what that Halfling might encounter down there.
What are you reading at the moment? Who are your favourite authors?
Favourite authors? It might seem obligatory to say the Black Library writers but in truth despite only having the absolute pleasure of meeting many of them recently, I’ve spent years with a good number of them in print. My wider reading tastes extend to the more literary. I teach literature, so many of the classics push my buttons. In terms of authors doing the business today, I’d have to say Alex Garland, Margaret Atwood and David Mitchell are amongst my favourites.
Hammer and Bolter 6 Page 5
