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Of Blood and Guts – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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OF BLOOD AND GUTS

Gary Kloster

‘I don’t trust him,’ Balder grunted, slashing the barbed tip of a leech vine away with his dagger.

The jungle that surrounded the city of Anvilgard was thick with poisonous life, and Groz Gutsmart had no hope of seeing Orm, the man Balder was complaining about. The massive ogor could barely see the sapphire-coloured armour of the rest of the Blue Band through the tangled vegetation, and Orm would be at the front of the line of mercenaries. But Groz had seen Orm enough over the last few days of hard march to draw his own conclusions.

Balder didn’t trust anyone, but he was right this time. Groz had seen it, even if the officers who led the Blue Band hadn’t, their attention caught by the gleaming flasks of Aqua Ghyranis that Orm had paid them. But then, they weren’t as smart as Groz. None of the Band were, because none of the short, thin-skinned humans had the good sense to feast on the brains of their enemies like Groz did.

‘Spice merchant,’ Balder grumbled. ‘He’s no merchant. He’s…’ Balder paused, trying to think of the right word, but he stayed carefully ahead of Groz’s swinging strides.

‘Unappetising,’ Groz growled. He reached out with a hand bigger than Balder’s head and plucked a tick off the human’s back. The rat-sized parasite wriggled and tried to sink its spear-like mouth into Groz’s thumb, but it couldn’t scratch the ogor’s thick hide. Groz popped it into his mouth and enjoyed the satisfying squish as he bit down. ‘Been watching. Nothing goes for him, not bug nor plant nor beast. The jungle doesn’t want to eat him.’ Groz looked around at all the teeming, hungry life and spat out a still-twitching leg. ‘And the jungle eats everything.’

‘I knew there was something wrong with him,’ Balder said. ‘Unnatural. What’re we going to do?’

Groz shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘We do what we do. Fight.’ Ahead of the ogor, the mercenaries were coming to a halt, muttered curses rolling down the line as fighters stumbled into each other. There were no other sounds, no clash of blades or crunch of armour, but Groz still pulled out the hammers that hung from his hips. They were heavy steel things, with flat crushing heads on one side and sharp hooks on the other, and their leather grips fit his hands perfectly. ‘Something’s happening.’

Balder nodded, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, but the line started moving again and the man kept his weapon sheathed – until they stepped out of the thick jungle into a wide clearing that was crowded with another army.

Despite the heat, they were in heavy armour, metal plates enamelled in green and blue and black, the colours shimmering like the feathers of birds. There were hundreds of them, at least twice the number of the Band, and Groz had eaten enough brains to guess that there would be more hidden in the jungle. The Band had been led into a trap, and in this clearing Groz could now see the man who had done the leading.

Orm stood at the head of the column, talking to a warrior who stood only a little shorter than Groz. He wore heavy armour, green and black like malachite, but his head was bare, revealing a face that had the huge golden eyes of a hawk and dark hair shot through with long emerald feathers. A banner hung over him, green with a strange blue sigil that rippled and twisted every time the banner stirred.

‘Chaos kind,’ Balder muttered. ‘Tzeentch’s brood. We’re so–’

Balder’s curse was cut off when Orm turned to face the Blue Band and raised his voice. ‘Have no fears, brave mercenaries. These are allies.’ Orm reached out and took a cape from the claw of a hideously twisted blue thing that shambled from the mass of Chaos warriors. He wrapped it around himself, a gleaming fall of feathers, blue and black, and as he did, his features seemed to change, becoming hard-angled and alien as his eyes turned the same mad gold as those of the armoured warrior before him. ‘And such strange, strong allies we are.’

Orm raised one hand, its fingers now tipped with dark claws, and pointed to the centre of the clearing. There, standing alone, was a tree. It was long dead, its bark fallen away to reveal ghost-white wood, its heavy trunk split by some great violence. That split was wide and high enough to let a wagon through, but the shadows filling the hollow moved and twisted by themselves like eels feeding on a corpse.

‘Here is a door, my friends. A door to a cooler, dryer land – a land of old death and riches. Follow me through it, and I will lead you to a place ripe for raiding. Follow me, and profit. Follow me, or…’ His words trailed off as dark shadows fluttered through the trees. Hundreds of them. Vultures and carrion crows, bright eyes gleaming as they landed on the branches ringing the clearing, waiting to see if they would be fed.

Groz watched as the leaders of the Blue Band huddled together, then waved to their fighters to fall in. Soon the whole Band was marching towards the dead tree, following Orm as he disappeared through the shadow-shifting door.

‘Told you I didn’t trust him,’ Balder muttered as he moved ahead of Groz into the darkness.

The ogor shrugged, his hammers still in his hands. ‘Too clever.’ Groz looked back at the Chaos warriors falling in behind the Band, ready to march through after them. Not good. But there was sure to be a fight soon. And clever brains… they were awful tasty.

Groz smiled, hunched down a little, and shoved through the shadow door set in the dead tree.

The silver moons of Shyish hung over the rolling hills of the Grey Orchards, suffusing the pale leaves of the grisil trees with their dead light, and in the shadows beneath their skeletal branches the Doll Court rode to battle in their ribbons and silks.

Isana brushed back her hair, wishing for the hundredth time that she could have braided it out of the way. It was a kind of insanity, going forth to fight while dressed for a ball, but she had grown used to this sort of madness. The vampire lord Veragin the White rode at the head of their line, immortal, beautiful, and vain as an aelven king. He ruled the Grey Orchards, lands given to him by Queen Neferata herself, and if his response to word of raiders riding towards his ornate keep was to order his court to dress for a dance, that was his right.

No matter how idiotic it was.

‘Nagash grant me strength,’ Isana whispered, and the rider in front of her turned her elaborately coifed head and looked back.

‘A prayer, Isana?’ Mia said. Of course she’d heard. The soulblight that transformed a mortal into a vampire didn’t make them any smarter, but it sharpened their senses as much as their fangs. ‘Surely you’re not afraid to fight for our lord?’

Ahead of Mia the rest of the Doll Court turned in their saddles to watch, and beyond them Veragin tilted his head slightly, waiting for Isana’s answer. Isana pulled herself up straight, her hand light on the jewelled hilt of one of her blades. ‘Of course not, darling Mia. It is the ultimate honour to fight for our lord.’

Mia looked at Isana’s hand, resting on her weapon, and her smile widened, showing teeth like tiny razors. She had no fear of Isana; Veragin forbade his pretty toys from harming each other. ‘The ultimate honour,’ she echoed. ‘Do you hear, dear lord? I think darling Isana wants to be your champion!’

Veragin reined in his steed, and the rest of the court did likewise, coming to a halt. Behind the vampires, the grey-cloaked mortal thralls who defended Veragin’s lands stopped in their lines and waited for their betters. Beyond them, the horde of shambling dead that had pulled itself out of the crypts surrounding Veragin’s keep when he’d called for their service fell into stillness, even more patient.

Isana’s heart had stopped beating long ago, when Veragin had taken her hot mortal blood and replaced it with the cold soulblight-tainted fluid from his own veins. But despite its perfect stillness, Isana could still feel fear. What was going on here? What trap had Mia set for her?

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