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The Orphan of Pale Harbour – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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THE ORPHAN OF PALE HARBOUR

Richard Strachan

I came to Pale Harbour from the south, past Skargstone and Grimsvagen. You travel far enough and soon all these small towns look pretty much the same. Especially in Ghur. Out on the frontiers it’s the same stockades and dirt roads, the same rank taverns and low Sigmarite temples. Folk crammed into rickety hovels if they work for a living, or taking their ease in more palatial residences if they don’t. Maybe there’s a metalith still hanging over the town, but all that fervour and promise, all that zeal and certainty, will have been burned up by the hard facts of living. When all the prayers and sacrifices have been made, soon enough folk begin to realise exactly where they are.

Despite his patchy attempt at a beard, the guard on the gate was little more than a boy.

‘What’s your business?’ His voice shook. He had a spear in one hand, a shield in the other. His helmet nearly covered his eyes, it was so ill-fitting.

‘Just passing through, son,’ I said. It was mostly swampland round those parts. I’d been hacking through them for the best part of a week and I was in no mood for the challenge.

‘On foot?’

‘Horse died a few leagues back.’

He looked over my shoulder, as if I might be trying to sneak a horde of beastmen in behind me.

‘Well,’ he said cautiously, ‘go on then. But make sure you report to Captain Herzog at the barracks.’ He gave me what I’m sure he thought was a hard stare. ‘We don’t have much time for strangers in Pale Harbour.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ I said.

The streets were busy, folk going about their business, most of them throwing me dark, suspicious looks as I went by. There was a market square, stalls selling vegetables, butchered flense-fish hauled from the sea, hides and leather goods. Soldiers patrolled in pairs down the main thoroughfare: a hard-packed dirt road with cramped, two-storey houses on either side. I asked two soldiers the way to the barracks. It was a long, flat-roofed hall on the other side of the town, up against the western wall. A Freeguild officer was sitting at a desk as I went in, a stack of papers in front of him, a harassed look on his face. He had a shaved head, a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. You get to be a good judge of character in my line of work and I took a liking to him straight away.

‘Captain Herzog?’

He looked up, gave me the once-over. He saw what I was.

‘A witch hunter?’ I saw the flicker of unease. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘The bold young warrior on the gate said I should report to you, on account of Pale Harbour not having much time for strangers. Name’s Galen ven Denst,’ I told him.

Herzog gave a short laugh. ‘Kenwyn, that idiot. You’ll have to forgive him, he wouldn’t know your sort from a hole in the ground.’ He sat back in the chair. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but I thought folk from the Order of Azyr did more or less as they pleased? There’s no trouble I should know about?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ I said. ‘Just passing through from work in other parts.’ I didn’t tell him what work. No sense frightening the man. ‘My daughter should be here in a day or two, then we’ll be heading on to Excelsis.’

Herzog nodded slowly. ‘Well, there’s not much to keep a man occupied in Pale Harbour, but I can recommend the Ironoak Inn. Comfortable enough, decent ale, and old Rudhek’s not likely to fleece you too much on the price. If you tell him I sent you.’

‘Appreciate it.’

I found the Ironoak easily enough. It was one of the tallest buildings in Pale Harbour, over on the northern edge of town, with a long wooden veranda stretching around to the back. Old Rudhek was one of the craven sort who’ll bow and scrape to your face while ripping you off the moment your back’s turned, but I got a decent room on the first floor and made it clear I wouldn’t be bilked on the charge. He took one look at the pistols and stakes in my belt, the sword and dagger, and ran a gnarled hand over his craggy grey face. Then he was all smiles and I knew I wouldn’t have a problem.

Once I’d caught an hour’s rest, I came down to the taproom. There were a few folk sitting by the fire nursing flagons of ale, a couple of off-duty soldiers drinking their way through their pay. No one wanted to meet my eye, which was fine by me; I’m not one for small talk. I took a pint of Parchbreaker out onto the veranda at the back. The wooden terrace looked over a straggly kitchen garden that abutted the northern walls. It was a sheltered spot, quiet. I lit one of the cheroots I’d promised Doralia I’d given up, and I was damned if I didn’t glance over my shoulder first in case she was about to stride onto the terrace and catch me. There wasn’t much that frightened me in the Mortal Realms, but I’d rather face all the minions of Chaos than my daughter’s displeasure.

The ale was smooth and mellow. I tried to relax as I finished the cheroot, but there was a sultry breeze that brought the smell of the swamps over the walls: rich and stagnant, the harsh, rolling scent of mire-blossom and catch-weed.

Something caught my eye on the other side of the gardens. I saw a flash of white. I flicked the cheroot into the grass and stared into the shadows. Night was coming on, but there was just enough light to make out the scene.

It was a young girl. She was creeping through the stands of herbs and heading to the walls. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old. She was barefoot, I saw, dressed in a ragged white shift with a worn leather bag over her shoulder. Her long brown hair was tangled and dirty. Even as I watched she seemed to disappear, and then I realised she had pushed her way through a gap in the walls and out into the scrubland beyond.

Without thinking, I hurried across to the wall. There was a loose slat there and the wooden stake in the outer wall was missing; it was just a question of swinging the slat to one side and squeezing through. Easy enough for a child, but even so I managed to force myself into the gap. No matter where you were in the Mortal Realms, the world beyond the walls was rarely a safe place after dark. I didn’t like the thought of anyone, let alone a child, running free out there.

The light was fitful now, the realmspheres shrouded by clouds, but when they drew away for a moment I could see her darting across the scrubland. I followed at a soft jog, keeping low. I scanned the ground on either side, the dank black line of the swamps ahead, but nothing else seemed abroad that night. I felt for my dagger. I’d left my other weapons in the room at the Ironoak Inn, and only prayed I’d have no need of them.

Crouching behind a stand of blackthorn gorse, I watched the girl reach the edge of the swampland and step a few feet into the mire. She looked about, made a low whistle that raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and took something from her bag. She stooped to place it on the ground. I peered through the dusky light. It looked like it might be a round of cheese or a loaf of hard-baked bread. She made the low whistle again and bowed, and then turned to head back to Pale Harbour. As she came near, I stood out from the gorse and grabbed her arm.

She gave a hiss, clawed at my gloves.

‘Easy,’ I said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

I released her, half expecting her to streak back to the swamps. She skipped back and rubbed her arm, staring up at me with a fierce apprehension.

‘You’re not safe out here,’ I said. ‘Do your folks know where you are?’

I tried to make myself look agreeable. It was harder than I remembered.

‘My parents are dead,’ she said.

‘Then who do you stay with? Who looks after you?’

‘I stay by myself,’ she said, with a touch a pride. ‘And the spirits look after me.’

‘Spirits.’ I looked to the swamp, the green profusion of the paperbark trees, the black mahogany, all the vines and creepers strung between them. The air was very still out there. I could smell that brackish scent of things growing and dying. ‘That who you’re leaving food for?’

The girl nodded her head. ‘I leave them offerings, to thank them for their help.’

‘And you’ve seen these spirits, have you?’

‘Sometimes,’ the girl admitted. Her face smoothed out, as if the memory calmed her. ‘They watch us from the green. They keep their eyes on Pale Harbour, and they keep it safe. I think…’ She faltered, looking down at her bare feet.

‘What?’

‘I think sometimes they are the spirits of my mother and father. I feel it.’

‘Well,’ I said, cautious, not wanting to scare her. I had the sense of something watching us all right. ‘Spirits or not, it’s not the best idea to be out here after dark. Let’s get back to the town. When did you last eat, anyway? I can get that crook who runs the Ironoak to rustle you up something.’

The mention of food did the trick. The girl brightened and followed me back to the gap in the wall, and once we were back on the veranda I called for Rudhek to bring her some broth, a heel of bread, whatever cold meats he had on hand.

‘For this one?’ Rudhek said, incredulous. ‘She’s always stealing from my larder, I’m surprised she needs it! And she’s cracked, witch hunter. You’ll not get a lick of sense out of her, she’s all faerie tales and nonsense, you see if I’m right.’

‘I’ll see you do what I tell you,’ I said, ‘or I’ll know the reason why. Now bring the food, and another pint of Parchbreaker while you’re at it.’

Rudhek vanished back into the tavern, grumbling. When he brought the fare out, the girl set to it and ate with gusto. She was starving; anyone could see it.

I sipped the ale and watched her, lit another cheroot.

‘My name’s Galen,’ I said.

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

This eBook edition published in 2022 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

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Cover illustration by Thomas Elliott.

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