Content Preview

         Other great stories from Warhammer Age of Sigmar • GOTREK GURNISSON • Darius Hinks GHOULSLAYER GITSLAYER SOULSLAYER DOMINION A novel by Darius Hinks 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 Bad Loon Rising Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Epilogue About the Author An Extract from ‘Prince Maesa’ 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 Badwater Drop In a dank cavern on the outskirts of Badwater Drop, Zograt the runt shovelled squig droppings. It was a dangerous and thankless task. He had to stretch through the crudely built fence of the squigs’ paddock to reach their leavings, not helped by his twisted leg or scrawny stature. The grot’s rudimentary shovel was little better than a stick topped with a tough flange of fungus. Zograt thrust it hurriedly into the mounds of ordure, scooping as much dung as he could before hastily withdrawing. Each time he cringed, anticipating a squig snapping its mantrap jaws shut on his arms.  ‘Keep dat jingler goin’, Driggzy,’ Zograt panted as he nerved himself up for another lunge. Driggz glanced down from his perch atop a tall bloatcap fungus, whose broad brim jutted over the paddock. ‘Yoo jus’ keep shovellin’,’ called Driggz. ‘An’ hurry up. Skram’s takin’ da ladz out soon. We don’t want ’im to find us still doin’ dis. Yoo know wot ’e gets like before a raid.’ Though also a runt, Driggz was slightly bigger and stronger than Zograt. Accordingly, he had bullied his way into the job of distracting the squigs instead of having to do the shovelling. Not that this was a much safer task, since it involved balancing precariously atop a ’shroom while dangling a cluster of bells over the squigs on the end of a long pole. The snarling, spheroid beasts jostled one another to leap and snap at the bells. Zograt reckoned all it would take was one moment’s inattention by Driggz for the squigs to bite down on bells or pole and haul him screaming into the pen.  Still, it was a safer job than shovelling, and Zograt cursed himself for winding up on dung-duty. He was normally quick-witted enough to trick Driggz into thinking his suggestions were Driggz’s own bright ideas, but today he had been too distracted by his nerves. It had been a while since their Loonboss, Skram Badstabba, had taken the ladz out on a raid. He was bound to subject Zograt to a beating if he stumbled across him before setting off. Such a display of bullying would impress Skram’s ladz – for every self-respecting grot enjoyed watching those weaker than them being picked on. Zograt had nothing but contempt for Skram, who was stupid enough that many of his ladz wondered if he wasn’t part orruk. He also feared him. The Loonboss was taller and thicker-set than Zograt by far. He had been the one to give him not only his twisted leg but also his crooked, thrice-broken nose. Just the thought of receiving yet another beating at Skram’s hands made Zograt’s own shake a little more.  ‘It’ll go fasta if we swap, Driggzy,’ he