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He Feasts Forever – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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He Feasts Forever

by Lora Gray

In the king’s kitchens, the hearth fires roared. Row upon row of lambs sizzled on spits, their small bodies skinned and dripping. Racks of suckling pigs, their throats knotted with garlic and thyme, roasted high above the coals. Sauces simmered. Stews roiled. In the hazy dimness, snug in the flesh-sweet smoke, the kitchen boys scurried, a clattering chaos of chopping and shouting, cursing and laughter.

There was nowhere else Dedric would rather have been.

He was smiling, slicing a tray of goose livers with Milo, the slaughterer, when the kitchen door slammed open with a burst of fresh air and light.

Hodge hulked into the doorway like a thunderhead, a stag draped over his shoulders, the aborted stumps of its young antlers rattling against the door frame, its broken neck swivelling. Even with the light at his brother’s back, Dedric could see the irritated, impatient set of Hodge’s jaw. For an uneasy beat, the kitchen stilled. Hodge may have been the king’s favourite huntsman, but his temper was as vicious as his marksmanship. It was an unspoken rule that he only delivered his kills early in the morning when everyone but Dedric or the occasional, unfortunate scullion was still asleep.

Milo elbowed Dedric. ‘Best see what Hodge wants,’ he whispered. ‘Before Old Poldrake crosses him.’

Dedric glanced over his shoulder to where Old Poldrake stood at the main hearth. The royal chef’s arms were folded. A scowl puckered his jowls and he puffed his chest as he faced Hodge across the hazy kitchen. The king had been gone for months, leading his armies and fighting for the glory and honour of the realm, and Old Poldrake was intent on making his victorious homecoming an event to remember. Every dish was carefully curated, every moment of the preparation meticulously timed. Hodge’s appearance was unscheduled and Old Poldrake’s temper rivalled Hodge’s when the rhythm of his kitchen was compromised.

A fight between the two of them would do nobody any good.

Dedric tentatively raised his hand. Old Poldrake’s gaze snapped between him and his brother. With a small snort, Old Poldrake gave Dedric a reluctant nod and then shouted for everyone to get back to work.

Dedric murmured an apology as he stood, the goose liver slipping, wet and plump, from his fingertips onto the tray. Milo simply shrugged and began slicing it himself. It wasn’t the first time Dedric had been forced to intervene when it came to his older brother.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Dedric hurried across the kitchen, dodging a pair of scullions scrubbing a splotch of red mud from the tiles beside the door. Outside, the sun was thin, the sky a bright wash of amethyst. Dedric squinted against it as he closed the door behind himself.

Without pretext, Hodge grunted and moved to shrug the dead deer into Dedric’s arms. ‘For the feast,’ he said.

Dedric stepped back and shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

Hodge’s expression sharpened. Dedric knew that look all too well. It meant a clean shot. Or a slap. Or a fist to the gut.

‘The larder is full, Hodge,’ Dedric continued quickly, his voice cracking. ‘There’s no space to be had in the smoke house or the kitchens. Old Poldrake is working us sun up to sun down. Nobody will have time to cook it properly.’

Hodge sneered and crowded Dedric against the closed kitchen door. He was a full head taller and nearly twice as broad as Dedric and his bulk blocked out the sun as he leaned in. The dead stag’s head swung between them, the gamey smell of blood-wet fur smothering Dedric like a damp blanket. He could see himself reflected in the deer’s dark eye, small and cringing against the door, the inky pupil tracking the anxious hitch of his shoulders.

‘Then make time, little brother,’ Hodge said. ‘Do you know where I’ll be sitting at the feast?’

Dedric peeled his gaze away from the stag’s eye and shook his head.

‘Perhaps I’ll be at his majesty’s right hand.’ Hodge grinned, but the nasty curve of his lip made the joke sour. ‘Perhaps he’s going to gift me a cup of royal wine. Royal. Wine. Dedric.’ Hodge poked his finger between Dedric’s eyes to emphasise each word. ‘Have you ever even seen royal wine? Red as blood? Sweet and dark? It will be my reward for my loyalty and service to the kingdom. When was the last time the king offered you a cup of royal wine?’

‘N-never.’

‘That’s right. Never. Because I’m the king’s best huntsman. And what are you? A cook. So do your duty and cook.’ Hodge slugged the deer unceremoniously into Dedric’s arms.

Dedric staggered, loose bone and wet fur shoving him against the door as his brother strode away from him and across the courtyard.

Dedric looked down at the dead stag, heavy as a sleeping child against him, its neck twisted round, fur pale as cream. Its mouth was parted. A fly crawled over the pink of its tongue. Its eyes were baleful and cold.

He tried not to think about the way they seemed to follow him as he went back inside.

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Warhammer horror

A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Alex Boyd.

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ISBN: 978-1-78999-621-0

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