Soulslayer Read online

  Other great stories from Warhammer Age of Sigmar

  • GOTREK GURNISSON •

  Darius Hinks

  GHOULSLAYER

  GITSLAYER

  DOMINION

  A novel by Darius Hinks

  STORMVAULT

  A novel by Andy Clark

  THUNDERSTRIKE & OTHER STORIES

  Various authors

  An anthology of short stories

  HARROWDEEP

  Various authors

  An anthology of novellas

  A DYNASTY OF MONSTERS

  A novel by David Annandale

  CURSED CITY

  A novel by C L Werner

  THE END OF ENLIGHTENMENT

  A novel by Richard Strachan

  BEASTGRAVE

  A novel by C L Werner

  REALM-LORDS

  A novel by Dale Lucas

  HALLOWED GROUND

  A novel by Richard Strachan

  • HALLOWED KNIGHTS •

  Josh Reynolds

  Book One: PLAGUE GARDEN

  Book Two: BLACK PYRAMID

  • KHARADRON OVERLORDS •

  C L Werner

  Book One: OVERLORDS OF THE IRON DRAGON

  Book Two: PROFIT’S RUIN

  Contents

  Cover

  Backlist

  Warhammer Age of Sigmar

  Soulslayer

  Your Celestial Highnesses

  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

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Your Celestial Highnesses

  About the Author

  An Extract from ‘Dominion’

  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.

  Your Celestial Highnesses,

  Please forgive the break in correspondence. I have been traversing the wastes of Chamon, caught up in another one of the Slayer’s ludicrous obsessions. I have never known anyone who can invest so much in an idea and then abandon it so easily. His much-vaunted partnership with the Solmund Company of Barak-Urbaz has already ended in disaster. For a while, he was grudgingly impressed by the Kharadron magnate Lord-Admiral Solmund, calling him sound-headed and trustworthy. The pair spent several months working on a scheme to revive an ancient duardin kingdom called the Khazalid Empire. They claimed they were going to ‘drive the forces of darkness from lands that are rightfully ours’ but, of course, it all came to nothing (like so many of Gotrek’s endeavours). Gotrek ended up denouncing Solmund as a ‘snotling-fondler and an oathbreaker’. The disagreement originated in a Kharadron drinking hall after several days of ale-fuelled ‘planning’. A fight broke out, but when Gotrek sobered up, I managed to convince him to leave the sky-port rather than ‘knock it on its arse’. I have yet to uncover the details of the argument but the two duardin seem equally bent on killing each other if their paths ever cross again.

  Despite severing ties with the Kharadron, Gotrek has not abandoned his vague idea of ‘fixing’ the realms. He has decided that the only way to honour his long-dead ancestors is to behave as they would have done in the Mortal Realms. Gotrek considers this a great revelation and he is infuriatingly evangelical about his ‘new’ plan. But, as far as I can tell, it makes no difference. His goal is to lock horns with anyone who disagrees with him, which is what he’s been doing since the first day I met him.

  All of this is a long-winded way of asking you to ignore my previous requests for aid. Now that Gotrek has severed ties with the Solmund Company, I am quite capable of monitoring his progress and protecting the rune embedded in his chest (which we are all so keen to see brought safely to Azyr). At present, we are headed south-west, away from the relatively stable core of the Spiral Crux, to a gods-forsaken backwater known as the Incendiary Coast. I sense that Gotrek has a particular destination in mind but he is refusing to share it.

  As I am sure you are aware, the military situation in Chamon is as mercurial as the landscape. The armies of Chaos are dominant, of course. These are still very much their lands, and the Realm of Metal teems with daemon-worshipping sorcerers and skull-taking warlords, but… the local greenskin tribes are increasingly a thorn in their side and many duardin, both mountain-bound and skyborne, still manage to carve out a life for themselves in the shadow of the Ruinous Powers. In some places, such as the aforementioned Barak-Urbaz, the duardin are even thriving.

  The pleas for help in my previous missive were the result of delirium, brought on by injuries, and I apologise for their hysterical tone. I assure you, all is now well. Please refrain from sending any more agents of the ord
er to assist me. Their arrival would only complicate matters and antagonise the Slayer (it does not take much). I will contact you as soon as I learn more about his purpose at the coast. Until then, I remain,

  Your most loyal and faithful votary,

  Maleneth Witchblade

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Gotrek has to die.’ Drymuss leant closer to Maleneth. ‘Everything else has failed.’ The witch hunter was handsome, for a human, with broad, strong features and the relaxed air of an idle prince. His indolence was an affectation, of course. Beneath his peaked hat and his cloak, he was a knot of righteous muscle. Maleneth had killed enough people to recognise a master of the craft. Drymuss smiled, trying to look amiable, but it was the smile of a predator. She had heard his name mentioned several times before she had left Azyrheim, ­usually in hushed whispers. Drymuss burned first and asked questions later. The Order of Azyr only used him when subtler methods were no longer an option. He leant back against a tree stump, his face gilded by firelight as he sipped his wine, studying her with lidded eyes. ‘Don’t blame yourself.’

  She looked past him, out across the sea. They were near the cliff’s edge and, as dusk turned to night, the Amethystine Ocean blazed in defiance, resisting the dark, flaunting its grandeur like a preening bird. Its cocktail of alloys and chemicals simmered in the gloom, trying to compete with the stars that were blinking into view overhead. The colours in the waves were vibrant even at this distance and embers spilled from the breakers, drifting to the clifftop, whirling around Maleneth like errant spirits. ‘I don’t blame myself,’ she said. ‘He’s not what I thought he was.’

  Drymuss frowned. ‘He’s just like any other Fyreslayer. Bigger perhaps. And undoubtedly peculiar. But he’s still just a hairy, duardin lump. Without that rune in his chest he’d be nothing. He could easily have died the day you met him in… Where was it, a Fyreslayer gaol in Aqshy? They certainly had no problem capturing him. Were they called the Unbak lodge?’

  Maleneth continued watching the embers drift around the hollow, thinking back to the Fyreslayer Halls of Censure where she had first seen Gotrek.

  ‘I thought the same as you,’ she said, ‘when I first met him. He was so confused he mistook me for a daemon. He thought everyone was a daemon, in fact. His head has taken so many hits his mind doesn’t work as it should. And I imagine he was a boorish oaf even before that. He fights like a drunk even on the rare occasions he’s sober. He takes no pride in his kills and he dedicates them to no god. He doesn’t even realise he’s in thrall to gods. He thinks he’s their equal. No’ – she laughed – ‘not equal. He thinks he’s superior to them. That they have no value at all.’ She waved the little bottle Drymuss had given her, letting the light catch on the twin-tailed comet etched into the glass. ‘He thinks gods are fools, and that the rest of us are fools too – and that he’s the only one who isn’t a fool.’

  As Maleneth spoke, her hatred of Gotrek simmered up from her chest. She needed to be careful around a snake like Drymuss, but her anger caught her unawares and she found herself warming to her theme. ‘He’s so uncouth, he can’t even grasp the value of faith. It’s beyond his intellect. He thinks he can just crack heads with anything that gets in his way and end up on top.’ She paused, as bewildered as she always was when she thought about the Slayer. ‘And he’s right, damn him. That’s the worst thing. He does come out on top. Whatever the realms throw at him he blunders through, spilling beer and breaking wind while his enemies flounder. And this is the most absurd part – half his enemies end up adopting him as a saviour. It’s maddening. Gotrek is the one person who doesn’t value religion and everyone decides that he must be some kind of divinity himself. He’s an ugly, pig-headed idiot but he’s the only person I’ve met who actually seems able to…’ She cut herself off before she said too much, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

  Drymuss studied her, his eyes glinting under the brim of his hat. ‘What is he able to do, Maleneth Witchblade? What do you think he is?’

  This was a dangerous moment. Maleneth could see the pistols under his cloak. He would attack her the moment he sensed her allegiance had shifted. Her aelven reflexes would give her an advantage over his sluggish, human muscles, but she only had knives and he had guns. She preferred the odds to be weighted more heavily in her favour. And they soon would be. She would not need to play this out for much longer.

  ‘I think Gotrek’s an obstacle,’ she lied. ‘I think the only way we’ll ever get that rune to Azyr is by cutting it from his chest. That’s what I’ve said all along. And that’s why I requested help. I just need a way to kill him.’

  He continued watching her closely and she sensed he was unconvinced. He nodded at the bottle he had given her. ‘That will do it. We’ve studied your letters. And I’ve conducted thorough interviews with people who’ve encountered Gotrek Gurnisson. That rune he stole from us has made him resilient. Unnaturally resilient. As you pointed out, even your Khainite toxins may not be enough to stop his heart. But that tincture I’ve given you is no normal poison. It will ossify him, Maleneth. His flesh will harden and turn to bone but the rune will remain unharmed. We’ll pluck it from his remains like a jewel from ashes. Collegiate Arcane scholars spent months refining the recipe. And I tested it myself on various unrepentant apostates. It will turn him to bone, Maleneth, you can trust me on that. And perhaps then, as he dies, he will finally understand his place, finally see how insignificant he is compared to Sigmar Heldenhammer. All you need to do is pour those few drops down his throat before he wakes up.’

  The sound of Gotrek’s snoring ripped through the darkness, as if on cue. The Slayer was further up the coastal path, slumped in the back of a cart tethered to a pair of ironbacks that were almost as cantankerous as he was. It was rare for the Slayer to sleep, but after three weeks of traipsing down to the coast they had found an abandoned stash of barrels filled with something that smelled like bilge water. Gotrek had described it, through grimaces, as ‘tolerable’, and then proceeded to drink the lot. He had been unconscious for nearly two days.

  She sighed, wondering how much longer she would need to keep up her act. She was not the Sigmar-botherer Gotrek always described her as, but lying to an agent of the order set her teeth on edge. People like Drymuss excelled at rooting out untruth.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, attempting another smile. ‘Are you hesitant to kill him?’ He shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be so strange. You’ve spent a long time in his company. And you’ve been through a lot together. From what I hear, Gotrek has saved your life on several occasions. Perhaps you feel you owe him something?’ He looked into the fire. ‘Or perhaps you’re just afraid of him?’

  He was trying to goad her. It was a common witch hunter technique. Drymuss hoped that, by making her angry, he might trick her into revealing some kind of heretical misbelief. But she was not a hedge witch trying to summon luck from chicken guts. She was a covenite sister, an assassin without equal, hardened in the Murder Temples of High Azyr. She shook her head. ‘I’m not afraid, Captain Drymuss. Of anything.’ She mirrored his hard smile. ‘I’m a Daughter of Khaine.’

  ‘Khaine?’ Amusement flickered in his eyes. ‘You mean Morathi-Khaine?’

  Maleneth hesitated, confused by the name. Morathi was the High Oracle of her sisterhood. She interpreted Khaine’s will. But Maleneth had never heard the two names combined like this and she sensed, from the gleam in Drymuss’ eyes, that it was more than just a slip of the tongue. There must have been some kind of political change, some shift in power that she was unaware of.

  ‘You don’t know, do you?’ he laughed.

  She tried to mask her confusion. ‘I know everything I need to know. I know how to survive and kill, and I know how to serve.’

  ‘Serve who?’ He gave her a look of exaggerated sympathy. ‘The realms are changing, Maleneth. Your own people are changing. And you know nothing about it because you’re traipsing through the wilder­n
ess after Gotrek, caught up in his ridiculous feuds. You’re being left behind. Use the tincture. Kill him. He could wake up at any time. You said he rarely sleeps.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Or I can do it if you lack the nerve.’

  Maleneth was about to argue, but then she realised she had kept Drymuss occupied long enough. She relaxed. The danger had passed. She looked over at the cart. ‘You can’t kill him. And I lied when I said I would.’

  Unease flickered in his eyes as he sensed that he might not be holding all the cards. ‘What are you talking about?’ Drymuss frowned and looked down at his hand. He grunted, trying and failing to move his arm. ‘What?’ His voice sounded odd as the muscles in his throat contracted, already stiffening, already turning to bone.

  Maleneth leant towards him, holding up the bottle. She turned it upside down to reveal that it was empty. ‘Expertly made. I assume, from the way you knocked back that wine, that the poison was completely tasteless.’

  Drymuss’ eyes widened in shock but when he tried to speak, only a strangled gargle emerged.

  ‘Consider this my resignation from the Order of Azyr,’ said Maleneth, lying back to gaze up at the stars. ‘I rescind my commission.’ The captain’s body made an odd creaking noise as it turned to bone, and Maleneth thought about how much danger she had put herself in by killing him.

  You’ve betrayed the only people who could have given you a route back into Azyr. You claim you’re going to become a powerful figure in the sisterhood. You claim you’re going to take my place. But how can you return now? You’re a bigger fool than I thought. The voice only existed in Maleneth’s mind and it came from an amulet hanging at her neck. There was a vial of blood mounted in the amulet and the blood was a prison, containing the tormented soul of Maleneth’s former mistress. What will they do when they hear Drymuss has gone missing? They sent him here looking for you. They sent him here at your request. Why would you be such a fool as to tell the order where you are and then kill the first envoy they send? Even for you, that’s absurd.

  The sounds of the dying witch hunter merged with the crackling of the fire and the crashing of waves to make a pleasantly soothing sound. ‘I changed my mind,’ said Maleneth, closing her eyes. ‘I can’t let them kill Gotrek to get that rune.’