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Dark Master – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Dark Master

By Richard Strachan

Hot with shame, Adel Janssen dropped from the stage at the Melody Inn and slumped into his corner seat next to Gisela, where he promptly buried his face in his hands.

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ Gisela said. She patted his trembling shoulder and pushed his tankard across the table towards him. ‘Honestly, at the bridge on “Sweet is the Wooing”, you could see people really starting to enjoy it.’

Adel looked at her through a crack in his fingers.

‘That is a barefaced lie,’ he muttered. ‘I broke a string on the bridge of “Sweet is the Wooing”.’

Gisela pushed a lock of rusty red hair behind her ear. Her wide green eyes looked remarkably sincere. ‘But that just shows how passionate a player you are,’ she said. ‘How much the music moves you.’

‘I forgot the words to “The Forlorn Charge”! When the Griffon Spears started their attack, I forgot their name!’

He gave his lute a bitter glare and snatched up his tankard. There were two dozen tables around the stage, most of them packed with musicians waiting their turn to perform. There was a smell in the air of spilled beer, strong firewater and wine. The smoke from Ghyranian cheroots rose up to wreathe the rafters in a faint blue haze. Amidst all the excited chatter of the young musicians keen to make their mark – as well as the grizzled old balladeers who would show them how it was really done – Adel could see more than a few of his peers hiding their mouths as they laughed at him.

‘Sigmar save me,’ he groaned. ‘I’m the worst musician in Hammerhal.’

‘A rare moment of insight, Janssen,’ a sneering voice said behind him.

Adel turned to see Viktor ven Durchanweld looming over him. Viktor was tall, sharp-faced and blue-eyed, with tumbling, raven-black locks that women, for some unfathomable reason, found attractive. On top of that, he could actually play the mandolin he was cradling in his arms, and play it damned well.

‘Viktor,’ Adel said coldly.

‘But you’re not the worst musician in Hammerhal,’ Viktor said. He gave a thin, reptilian smile. ‘In fact, you’re quite the worst musician in all of Aqshy…’

Adel gritted his teeth. He couldn’t think of a decent retort; after all, there was a good chance Viktor was right. He glowered at him instead, and called out, ‘Good luck with your performance!’ in a way that he hoped was dripping with irony.

Viktor turned back to him as he idly tuned his instrument.

‘I don’t need luck, Janssen,’ he said. ‘Some of us are actually good at this.’

Later, as they walked back to their separate lodgings through the tangled, sultry streets of Blackwood Town, Adel treated Gisela to a long, expletive-filled rant about the qualities or otherwise of Viktor ven Durchanweld, mandolin players, the clientele at the Melody Inn and his prospects in the upcoming Symposium, which was being held in no less a venue than the Lonely Bard in the Riftmarket, on the other side of Cinderfall.

‘I’ve paid my two embers already,’ he moaned. ‘I have to go through with it. Sigmar’s blood, I’m going to humiliate myself!’

Gisela, her silver lyre resting on her shoulder, walked at his side, her head down. A fine, humid mist blew down the street. Even at night, the heat of the city spread across their shoulders like a blanket. Adel could hear the tinkle of broken glass from the ale houses down Hotspear Lane, the calls of the costermongers flogging the last of their wares before they closed up their barrows for the night. The mighty sprawl of Hammerhal simmered with activity around them; the greatest and most powerful city in Sigmar’s domain, home to untold millions of the richest and poorest people in the realm – and Adel Janssen had never felt so alone.

‘It won’t be so bad,’ Gisela said. She took his arm. ‘You just need more practice.’

‘I’ve got less than a week! All the practice in the world isn’t going to make a difference. This is the Symposium! The chance to win patronage from Lord Hoenstahl himself! He’s on the Grand Conclave! The winner plays recitals at Hoenstahl’s private parties in front of the most influential people in the city. If I were to actually win…’

He sighed. The feel of Gisela’s arm was doing much to improve his mood, but Adel knew he couldn’t put himself through this much longer. He just had to admit it. He couldn’t play. He loved music, he lived and breathed it. The way one could conjure the most devastating emotions from a few strings and some polished wood was a form of magic a thousand times more potent than anything in the Collegiate Arcane. But whatever mystical skill you needed to craft music, he just didn’t have it.

‘Viktor was right,’ Adel murmured. ‘I am the worst musician in Aqshy.’

Gisela gave an exasperated sigh. She pulled him up short and turned him round to face her, and although he was a head taller he found himself quaking under her fierce gaze. They had stopped in front of Zymmerman’s Musical Emporium. The dimpled, lead-lined window was dark, but Adel was still worried that the old man would burst from his door and demand the three dozen embers he still owed for the lute. He’d never pay that back, not now.

‘It’s not magic,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s just hard work. There are no shortcuts, no tricks. It’s just practice. And if you’re not prepared for that hard work, then yes, you will humiliate yourself at the Symposium. You can’t always get what you want, Adel, but if you do your best, you’ll certainly rid yourself of this miserable self-pity.’

Adel nodded, ashamed. Gisela looked up at him and her face softened. She jutted her chin towards the music shop and smiled.

‘Or failing that, you could just steal the Secret Chord from old Zymmerman. That would solve all your problems, wouldn’t it?’

He looked round at the shop, its plain frontage, the collection of instruments in the darkened window.

‘What “Secret Chord”?’ he said. ‘What are you talking about?’

Gisela was astonished. ‘Seriously? Everyone down the Melody jokes about it all the time. Apparently old Zymmerman has some ancient grimoire hidden away in there,’ she said. ‘A book of terrible spells that includes the mysteries of a chord so powerful it can summon a daemon… Chained by the beauty of the music, he’s forced to grant you one wish…’ She laughed. ‘There’s a crossroads in the Narrows. Play that chord in that place at midnight and ask for your heart’s desire. Rumour has it Lucass Brinke tried to haggle with Zymmerman for the book once, but the old goat sent him packing. So they say, anyway.’

Adel stared at the Emporium, his mind turning over. He felt a dull thrill spreading in his stomach. Your heart’s desire…

‘Do you think he would sell it? Or let me borrow it, maybe? Or even just let me look at it quickly, try to get an idea of it…’

Gisela reached up and rapped her knuckles against his forehead.

‘Ow!’ He winced. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘It’s not real, you idiot,’ she laughed. ‘There is no book, no “Secret Chord”… It’s just a tall tale, musicians’ folklore! Have you lost your mind? Honestly, Adel, I had no idea you were so gullible…’

At the corner of the Charway and Ardient Street they said goodbye for the night. Gisela went up on her toes to give Adel a chaste kiss on the cheek.

‘Hard work and practice,’ she said. ‘That’s all it takes.’

Adel nodded. ‘Hard work and practice…’ Then he looked back down the Charway, where Zymmerman’s Musical Emporium waited for him in the darkness.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2021.
This eBook edition published in 2021 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Catherine O’Connor.

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