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Death on the Road to Svardheim – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Death on the Road to Svardheim

by Darius Hinks

‘Idiots.’ Gotrek stomped through the dust, his axe jolting on his sunburnt shoulders.

His words shook Maleneth out of a daze. It had been hours since either of them had spoken and his sudden outburst made her realise how close to sleep she was. They had been walking for three days with no sign of civilisation. No sign of anything, for that matter. She looked around at the desolate, sun-baked fields. The earth was the colour of blood, and so riven with cracks that it reminded her of Gotrek’s scarred face. There were no clouds. No vegetation. Nothing to break the monotony of the view. There were also no people. ‘Who?’ she said, her voice a dry croak. ‘Who are idiots?’

Gotrek nodded at the pale shapes heaped all around them. The road from Gamp to Svardheim was lined with skulls. The plains had been conquered, liberated and reconquered so many times that the ground was more bone than earth. And, at some point, Khorne’s cannibals had decided to decorate the road with human heads. Crows had taken the flesh and the sun had bleached the bone. Now the skulls gleamed in the heat, grinning at everyone unfortunate enough to pass by.

For once, Maleneth agreed with the Slayer. ‘How did they think they could stand against the legions of Khorne with picks and shovels? They should have fled to Svardheim. At least a few of them might have kept their heads.’

Gotrek stopped and grabbed one of the flasks at his belt. Then he muttered a curse and held it upside down, spilling a single drop of liquid into the dust. He stared at the dark spot it made, looking bereft. ‘No beer.’

Maleneth rolled her eyes, threw him a flask of water and wandered over to the edge of the road. The skulls were covered in patches of crimson dust and she had not realised, until now, that there were designs scored into the bone. She stooped down to examine one of them, wiping some of the dust away. To her surprise, rather than the brutal symbols of Khorne, the skulls were scored with elegant characters that she could read. ‘Sigmar?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

Gotrek wiped his beard and threw the flask back. ‘Probably put here by your sort. Starry-eyed lightning enthusiasts.’

‘Nonsense.’ Maleneth dusted down more skulls, revealing the name Sigmar on each of them. ‘The God-King does not demand human sacrifices.’

‘He doesn’t demand anything. He just hides. Skulking in the clouds, keeping his head down and waiting for someone else to sort out the mess he made. I didn’t say they were sacrifices, anyway. I just said they were put here by your sort. By people so stupid they think writing names will save them.’ He booted a skull down the road. ‘They put these out thinking Sigmar would see their devotion.’ He laughed. ‘Thinking he would send help.’

Maleneth’s pulse quickened as she realised they were resuming an argument she thought they had abandoned hours ago. ‘The war for the realms won’t be decided by mortals. It doesn’t matter how big your biceps are, Gotrek. It doesn’t matter how sharp your axe is. Your fate will be decided by the will of gods. You’re a piece in their great game, whether you know it or not.’

‘Codswallop.’ He rounded on Maleneth. ‘You’ve skulked in my shadow longer than most, aelf, so you can’t be as dim-witted as I thought. But you won’t last long if you persist in thinking that gods care about you. Sigmar, Khaine, or whoever it is you really whisper to in the dark when you think I’m asleep – they don’t know you exist. And if they did, they wouldn’t give a rat’s arse about you.’

Maleneth snatched a knife from her belt and waved it at the skulls. ‘Call them idiots, Gotrek, but the people who left these have more sense than you. They know that they can’t be saved by muscles or iron. They know they’ll only be saved by faith. Only divine power can stop divine power. Only gods can halt gods.’ So many hours without rest or food had left her nerves raw and she turned her knife on Gotrek, her hand trembling. ‘And don’t try to kid yourself that you’re not part of the struggle. If you’re not fighting for Order, you’re aiding the enemy. There’s no middle way. There’s no impartiality. You are either with us or you’re against us.’ Maleneth had never accused Gotrek so directly and it was a blessed relief to finally spit the words out. They had festered between them for too long.

‘I’m with no one.’ He leant towards her, his eye blazing. ‘And no one is with me.’

‘Then perhaps you should ask yourself why. You have so much power, Slayer. Power beyond anything I have encountered.’ She tapped the rune embedded in his chest. ‘Power that can’t be explained by this Fyreslayer gold. And where do you think it came from? Do you think you caught it, like an ague? Do you think you gained it through heroic consumption of beer? Do you think you earned it by being more ill-mannered than anyone else? Of course not. So where in all the hells of Shyish do you think it came from?’

Gotrek’s expression darkened but he seemed at a loss. He spat into the dust.

‘It came from the gods,’ she continued. ‘Or one particular god. Either way, you’re a pawn. A piece in the game whether you know it or not. And if you don’t lend your strength to Sigmar’s crusade then you might want to think about why. Maybe it’s because your power comes from the forces he has sworn to defeat.’

‘Chaos?’ He gripped his axe in both hands and began circling her. ‘You’ve got some bloody balls, saying that to a son of the Everpeak.’

‘Then prove me wrong. Show me you’re working for something other than yourself.’

The Slayer continued pacing for a while, then marched on down the road, muttering curses.

Maleneth smiled as she followed. She doubted she had done anything to change Gotrek’s mind but goading him was one of her few remaining pleasures.

They walked in silence for another few hours, with Gotrek pausing only to boot the odd skull down the road. Then, finally, just as Maleneth thought she could bear the heat no longer, the light started to dim into a sullen dusk.

‘Is that a campfire?’ she said, spotting a glow up ahead.

‘Doubt it. Too many cannibals and brigands round here. Even the local morons know not to light fires.’ Gotrek gripped his axe and nodded to Maleneth’s knives. ‘Keep your wits about you, aelf. This journey might not be quite as tedious as I thought.’

Maleneth drew her knives and jogged down the road, peering into the dusk, trying to make out the source of the light. It was not long before she spotted the silhouette of an overturned wagon. The horses had gone and there were flames whipping across a torn canvas. ‘This happened recently,’ she said, slowing and glancing back at Gotrek.

He nodded as he passed her, testing the weight of his axe and scouring the surrounding plains. ‘Look there,’ he said, pointing his axe towards the sinking sun. ‘Another road.’

Maleneth shook her head ‘Just hoofprints. Fresh ones. And I think I see the riders.’

Gotrek turned back to the smouldering cart. ‘I wonder if they left anything to drink in there.’ He marched towards the flames, humming tunelessly.

Bodies were scattered across the road and most of them were headless, darkening the road with their blood. They were wearing white robes trimmed with gold and stitched with hammers and comets.

‘Sigmar botherers.’ Gotrek paused as he reached the first one, prodding the corpse with his boot. ‘They should know better than to travel these plains.’ He gave Maleneth a pointed glance. ‘Funny. Faith doesn’t seem to have done them much good. Perhaps Sigmar was too busy having his hair plaited. He always looks so pretty in those paintings. It must be hard work keeping his nails in good condition.’

Maleneth ignored him, treading carefully through the corpses, looking for survivors.

Gotrek snorted. ‘What do you care, aelf? You’d have done the same to them if you thought it would impress Khaine. He is called Khaine, isn’t he? Your preferred bloodthirsty deity?’

‘I serve the Order of Azyr. I’m sworn to hinder Sigmar’s foes and aid his followers. It is the faith of people like this that will give the God-King his victory over Chaos.’

‘And then what? If the Chaos Gods really were defeated, how much would you care about Sigmar and his followers then? You’d be doing murder dances for Khaine before I could say “fickle turncoat”.’

Maleneth was about to reply when she noticed a gleam of polished metal under one of the cart’s broken wheels. In truth, her reasons for scouring the corpses were not entirely virtuous; she was always on the lookout for weapons or artefacts that might be valuable. As she approached the metal, she saw it shift slightly. ‘Who’s there?’ she cried, raising her knife and backing away.

Gotrek rushed to her side, lifting his axe.

‘There’s someone under here.’ Maleneth nodded at the wheel. ‘Armed, I think. We should tread carefully in case–’

Gotrek booted the wheel and tipped the cart over. Dust and splinters flew everywhere, and someone bolted, clutching a sword.

Maleneth was about to hurl a knife, then paused and held up a warning hand to Gotrek. It was a human priestess, dressed in the same Sigmarite robes as the others. ‘Wait!’ cried Maleneth. ‘We serve Sigmar.’

Gotrek was about to disagree but Maleneth yelled again before he could speak. ‘We mean you no harm.’

The woman ran further down the road, then, when she realised no one was following her, she paused to look back. Her robes were torn and bloodstained, and the sword trembled in her hand, but she did not look badly injured. ‘There’s nothing left to take,’ she said, glancing at the ruined cart. She stumbled, unsteady on her feet, then pointed the sword at Gotrek, frowning as she took in his tattooed muscles and tall crest of hair. ‘What are you?’

Gotrek raised an eyebrow. ‘A pawn.’

The priestess looked even more confused. She shook her head and turned to go.

‘Wait,’ called Maleneth. ‘I’m Maleneth Witchblade. I’m an agent of the Order of Azyr. I have travelled here from the Celestial Realm.’

The woman’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve seen the Eternal City?’

Maleneth nodded. ‘I spent many years in Azyrheim.’

The priestess took a few, hesitant steps back towards them. ‘Really? Azyrheim… Is it as beautiful as the ancient hymns claim?’

Maleneth thought of the Khainite Murder Temples where she learned to kill, picturing the blood-drenched altars and statues. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

The woman stared at her, clearly shocked. ‘I am called Carmina,’ she said, lowering her sword. She looked at Gotrek. ‘Are you a Fyre–’

‘He’s Gotrek,’ interrupted Maleneth. ‘He comes from the world-that-was.’

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2020.
This eBook edition published in 2020 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Johan Grenier.

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