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Blades of Atrocity – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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BLADES OF ATROCITY

Mike Vincent

The Thunderhawk’s howling engines cycled down and clouds of vapour unfurled as it came to rest on the frigate’s hangar deck. There were no other craft in the small hangar. None would fit around the vast drop-ship. The midnight blue of the Thunderhawk’s hull plating split as the crew ramp descended, spilling bloody light that silhouetted a lone Night Lords warrior. The giant in barbed armour descended the ramp, a mantle of human hides swaying at his back, bat-winged helm in his left hand.

Dalchian Rassaq, the Skin-Taker, commander of the Night Lords warband the Blades of Atrocity, was furious. His deep-set eyes burned in a sallow, war-scarred face. A dozen mortal serfs lined the hangar deck, kneeling, foreheads to the floor as their master returned. He was met by his adjutant, Zorean, slightly taller than his lord and cadaverously gaunt in his night-dark armour.

‘My Lord Skin-Taker.’ Zorean inclined his head as he spoke. ‘Did the war council heed your wisdom?’

‘Of course not,’ Dalchian spat as they left the hangar deck. ‘The woe-begotten parasites we are calling allies have decided upon a symbolic strike rather than a strategic one. The templum-capitalis is to be our target.’

‘So, the threat posed by the aerodrome in the Dathant Heights?’

‘Ignored for now.’

‘Fools.’

‘Worse than fools.’ Dalchian indicated to a serf to call muster. ‘Still, something can be salvaged from this folly. I demanded our Blades lead the assault.’

‘How was that received?’

‘We are the only Legion warband in this alliance, Zor. Even they know when to give respect where it’s due. I’ll be damned if I let any of those scum cheat us out of our share. First in, and we get our pick of the spoils.’

Zorean’s lip curled at that as the two Night Lords made their way through the corridors of their frigate, the Abjuration. At barely a quarter of a mile long and with a crew of just less than a thousand, the vessel was the smallest in the heretic armada. Such a statistic did not concern the Skin-Taker. The lethality of the Night Lords embarked upon it made the Abjuration a far more serious threat than its tonnage would suggest. Dalchian and Zorean stepped onto the twilit bridge, which was dominated by an oculus screen where a grainy vid-capture of the lesser forge world Uzurmandius rotated slowly. Dalchian’s nostrils flared involuntarily as he beheld the image. It was plunder.

It was prey.

Along with the mortal crew, three other Night Lords loomed in the half-dark of the bridge. Claw leaders of the Blades of Atrocity, awaiting their lord’s orders. Krutaan’s gauntlets looked bare without his customary lightning claws. Vankro wore his perpetual sneer, the face-skins of old foes stretched across his breastplate. Havoc Ciburrion stood hunched, the ammo hopper for his beloved autocannon already mounted on his backpack in preparation. My murderers, torturers and villains. My feral beasts in midnight clad. Dalchian Skin-Taker smiled a lipless smile.

‘Claw leaders,’ Dalchian addressed them. ‘We are to lead the orbital assault on the templum-capitalis. Lord Xerclon’s Sons of Malice will form the second wave, with the other warbands following us in. There is an archmagos and a nest of lesser magi and tech-priests there who need to die. Once we begin our insertion, the enemy will doubtlessly reinforce from their fortress-aerodrome at the Dathant Heights. Then the real murder will begin.’

‘Why do we not simply target their fortress first, Skin-Taker?’ Vankro asked.

‘Because we would be doing so alone.’ Dalchian’s scorn was plain in his tone. ‘Nominally, Lord Thelissicus of the Crimson Slaughter holds sway. His forces are thrice ours. Xerclon’s Sons of Malice and the Warp Ghosts of Bonesage Vilyas are in his pocket, and Grensch of the Flylords heaves himself along in the wake of whomever promises the greatest prize. Alone, we could not take this world or plunder its resources. We must be… politic.’ Dalchian swallowed his distaste.

‘You mean weak.’ Krutaan was just pale eyes and a scarred brow above a snarling rebreather.

‘I mean I will do what must be done. Or would you rather see our supplies and ammunition wither away completely, Krutaan?’

Krutaan let out a wordless growl. Dalchian fixed each of his claw leaders with a look.

‘See to your preparations,’ he said. ‘Our blades yet thirst.’

‘Yes, Lord Skin-Taker.’

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

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