Blightslayer

Other great stories from Warhammer Age of Sigmar • GOTREK GURNISSON • Darius Hinks GHOULSLAYER GITSLAYER SOULSLAYER DOMINION A novel by Darius Hinks KRAGNOS: AVATAR OF DESTRUCTION A novel by David Guymer GODSBANE A novel by Dale Lucas THE VULTURE LORD A novel by Richard Strachan CONQUEST UNBOUND Various authors An anthology of short stories THE HOLLOW KING A Cado Ezechiar novel by John French THE ARKANAUT’S OATH A Drekki Flynt novel by Guy Haley HALLOWED GROUND A novel by Richard Strachan GROMBRINDAL: CHRONICLES OF THE WANDERER An anthology by David Guymer A DYNASTY OF MONSTERS A novel by David Annandale CURSED CITY A novel by C L Werner REALM-LORDS A novel by Dale Lucas THE END OF ENLIGHTENMENT A novel by Richard Strachan HARROWDEEP Various authors An anthology of novellas BEASTGRAVE A novel by C L Werner THUNDERSTRIKE & OTHER STORIES Various authors An anthology of short stories Contents Cover Backlist Warhammer Age of Sigmar Blightslayer Prologue PART ONE Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Investigations PART TWO Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Investigations PART THREE Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Investigations Epilogue About the Author An Extract from ‘The ­Arkanaut’s Oath’ A Black Library Publication eBook license The Mortal Realms have been despoiled. Ravaged by the followers of the Chaos Gods, they stand on the brink of utter destruction. The fortress-cities of Sigmar are islands of light in a sea of darkness. Constantly besieged, their walls are assailed by maniacal hordes and monstrous beasts. The bones of good men are littered thick outside the gates. These bulwarks of Order are embattled within as well as without, for the lure of Chaos beguiles the citizens with promises of power. Still the champions of Order fight on. At the break of dawn, the Crusader’s Bell rings and a new expedition departs. Storm-forged knights march shoulder to shoulder with resolute militia, stoic duardin and slender aelves. Bedecked in the splendour of war, the Dawnbringer Crusades venture out to found civilisations anew. These grim pioneers take with them the fires of hope. Yet they go forth into a hellish wasteland. Out in the wilds, hardy colonists restore order to a crumbling world. Haunted eyes scan the horizon for tyrannical reavers as they build upon the bones of ancient empires, eking out a meagre existence from cursed soil and ice-cold seas. By their valour, the fate of the Mortal Realms will be decided. The ravening terrors that prey upon these settlers take a thousand forms. Cannibal barbarians and deranged murderers crawl from hidden lairs. Martial hosts clad in black steel march from skull-strewn castles. The savage hordes of Destruction batter the frontier towns until no stone stands atop another. In the dead of night come howling throngs of the undead, hungry to feast upon the living. Against such foes, courage is the truest defence and the most effective weapon. It is something that Sigmar’s chosen do not lack. But they are not always strong enough to prevail, and even in victory, each new battle saps their souls a little more. This is the time of turmoil. This is the era of war. This is the Age of Sigmar. Prologue Dead trees trembled in the wind. Their black branches reached towards the twilit sky as trails of grey cloud slithered across the face of the moon. Here and there pools of deep water were wrinkled in the breeze. The night-blooming flowers of devil’s tooth and bloodroot began to breathe their cold fragrance into the air. The wind rushed and moaned over the mire, and the trees clattered their branches together like praying hands. A moth, like a scrap of tattered lace, skipped over the stalks of grass. Its wings were as wide as a lady’s fan, and emblazoned on each was the suggestion of a staring eye. The wind buffeted and threw the creature, a trail of shimmering silver dust cast off by its wings. Still it kept its course, on, ever on, skimming the mire and the deep pools, threading its way through the branches of the trees until it came to a scattering of black stone that might once have been a castle. A spire jutted at a drunken angle from the fenland, like a beckoning finger. Beneath it was a wide sweep of crumbling wall, the remains of an old courtyard, the ruins of battlement and barbican. Moss and vine had colonised the stone, and drifts of dead autumn leaves crackled in the wind as it shuddered through the ancient square. The moth flew on, fluttering madly through the breeze, the trail of silver dust like a comet’s tail strung out behind it. From somewhere deep inside the tower came a scream – the howl of someone past all hope, who yearns for death only as a last relief from endless torment. The moth floated up the flank of the tower and gained the lip of an arrow-slit window. Beyond, there was nothing but a rich and oppressive darkness: shadows like living things, cold and vindictive, and the sense beyond them of a prowling, malign intelligence. The moth felt no fear or uneasiness, though. The feathers of its antennae quivered on the edge of the darkness, and after a moment it lifted from the stone and passed through the window, fluttering into the black. All that was visible in that impenetrable gloom was the faint trail of silver dust that fell from its wings. ‘You return…’ a voice whispered. It was a voice as dry as the dead leaves in the courtyard, as lifeless as the trees that shivered in the mire. It was a voice that was ancient and without pity, and for which mercy was a long-forgotten thing. ‘Come, my child… Tell me all… Tell me what the night