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Sands of Blood – Extract

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Sands of Blood

Josh Reynolds

‘Retributors to the vanguard,’ Tarsus, Lord-Celestant of the Hallowed Knights, roared over the howl of the wind that whipped across the Blood Wastes. It whined through the crumbled remains of walls and other, less recognizable, structures which rose from the red sands below like gravestones. At the bottom of the enormous dune on which he stood, Tarsus saw the Bloodbound loping through the rising storm towards a straggling line of carts and robed figures. Howling bloodreavers sprinted ahead of more heavily armoured blood warriors, crying out the name of their foul god.

The mortals in the caravan below, blinded by the storm, had only just become aware of the doom about to fall upon them. They were dressed as pilgrims, in heavy robes, and some wore chains and funerary bells which clanged as they moved. Others wore armour over their robes, and he saw these draw weapons as the other pilgrims hurried to escape. The former were outnumbered, and the rest too slow.

‘Brave, if futile,’ Tarsus said. ‘But they will not fight alone.’

He cast a look over his shoulder at his Warrior Chamber as they took up position across the crest of the crimson dune. As he spoke, the Liberator retinues moved aside in precise formation to make way for the Retributors.

‘Who will be triumphant?’ he cried, lifting his sword and hammer high.

‘Only the faithful,’ the Retributors rumbled as one. Their heavy, ornate armour was prominently marked with the lightning bolt of Sigmar, and the massive two-handed hammers they carried shimmered with electric energy. As they strode forwards at Tarsus’ command, they slammed the great weapons together, adding to the clamour of war. They were not alone in this, for the Liberators too thumped their hammers against the inside of their shields in a brutal rhythm.

‘Separate the Bloodbound from their prey, Bull-Hearts. Liberators, shield the mortals!’ Tarsus started down the dune towards the enemy, many of whom had slowed, their attention drawn by the noise rising from the Stormcasts’ ranks. He grinned fiercely beneath his war-helm. ‘Soros, you and your Retributors are with me.’

‘Aye, Lord-Celestant – where you go, we follow,’ Retributor-Prime Soros bellowed, his hammer held at the ready across his chest. His brethren roared in agreement, and their hammers clashed and sparked as they followed Tarsus down the slope of the crimson dune. Overhead, a retinue of Prosecutors hurtled through the swirling wind-borne dust clouds on crackling wings. Their hammers whirled from their hands, thrown with incredible force to smash into the space between the servants of Chaos and their quarry. Sand exploded upwards, and the foremost bloodreavers stumbled back in surprise. The Prosecutors had broken the enemy’s momentum, as he had planned. Now all that was left was to gore them.

Tarsus pounded towards the milling Chaos warriors. He heard the clanging of the bells on the carts, and the screams of men, women, and dray animals as he plunged into the enemy ranks, and despatched one of the warriors with a blow from his hammer. From behind him came the snarl of lightning as the hammers of the Retributors swept down on the foe. He and his vanguard had torn a gaping wound in the horde with their attack, and its effect was immediate. As they fought, more and more bloodreavers turned away from their original quarry and doubled back towards the Stormcasts. Soon, flashes of blue lightning were streaking upwards as Tarsus’ men fell to the axes of their foes – but not many, he was glad to see. He had few enough warriors, and could ill afford to lose them.

As he cut down another bloodreaver, he saw that the Liberators had reached the struggling line of mortals and enveloped them in a protective shield wall. He spun as a roar assaulted his ears, and quickly interposed his sword, catching an axe before it reached him. His attacker was armoured in crimson and brass, and the air seemed to shimmer around him as he stabbed a spiked gauntlet at Tarsus’ stomach. Blood warrior, he thought. One of Khorne’s chosen.

Tarsus slammed his hammer down onto the spike, parrying the blow. He rammed the weapon into the Chaos champion’s chest, denting the cuirass, but the warrior only took a single step back before lunging forwards with a snarl. The champion swept his axe out in a wicked arc and Tarsus retreated, the sand shifting beneath him. His enemy followed, growling a low chant to his deity as he came. They traded blows back and forth, weapons clashing. The servants of the Blood God were renowned for their ferocity, but this one, at least, was a seasoned warrior as well, matching Tarsus blow for blow.

At the last moment, the sand shifted beneath his feet, and he momentarily lost his footing. He teetered, off-balance, but it was enough for his opponent. The blood warrior gave a roar and swung his axe, tearing a spray of sparks from Tarsus’ chest plate and nearly knocking him off his feet. Tarsus staggered and lost his grip on his hammer. He whipped his sword up as the axe fell, parrying a blow that would have otherwise split his helm and skull. The blood warrior wrenched his axe up in a two-handed grip, readying it for another strike.

Suddenly, Tarsus heard a keening shriek and glanced up as a black shadow fell over them. He swiftly stepped back as a monstrous shape pounced on the champion from above. The unsuspecting warrior disappeared in a spray of blood as the thing struck with the force of a meteor and smashed the Chaos champion into the shifting sands.

The golden and black monstrosity rose up from its victim with a shriek. The creature was made not of flesh, but of dark metal and other, less identifiable, things. Its bat-like features were twisted in an expression of vile hunger, and it snapped its heavy jaws shut on the dead warrior’s skull. With a toss of its head, it tore something wispy and squalling from the pulped remains, and Tarsus knew it was his former opponent’s soul. With a rattling sigh, the dread abyssal sucked the whimpering spirit into its gullet. It turned its smouldering gaze on Tarsus, who shook his head.

‘He was mine, Mannfred,’ he said.

‘So he was,’ Mannfred von Carstein said as he leaned forwards in his saddle on the back of the dread abyssal. The vampire’s black, ridged armour was pitted and scored with the marks of battle, and the red cloak he wore was tattered, but Mannfred himself did not look in the least tired. He never did, no matter how fierce the fighting.

Tarsus raised his weapons warily as the creature growled and took a tentative step towards him. The vampire smiled thinly and patted his mount’s neck. ‘Ashigaroth eats only those souls I allow him to. And for the moment, that is not you.’

‘For the moment,’ Tarsus said, as he looked about. The battle was all but over. The enemy had been routed, bodies littered the sands and those who had survived the Stormcast attack were fleeing into the growing storm.

Mannfred chuckled. ‘A joke, Tarsus. We are allies, you and I. You saved my life, Stormcast, and now I have saved yours.’

‘I did not require it,’ Tarsus said. It had been many days since they had freed the vampire, and Tarsus had no cause to regret it, yet.

At least this time he did not have to summon the dead to aid us, Tarsus thought. There was something indefinably monstrous about the act of wrenching the slain from their slumber, and propelling them into battle once more. But despite his misgivings, the Lord-Celestant did not begrudge the vampire’s help – they were alone in hostile territory, and surrounded by hundreds of nomadic warbands in service to the Ruinous Powers.

Mannfred smiled. ‘Yet I gave it freely. Letting you die in such an ignominious manner would hardly serve my cause, now would it?’

Tarsus frowned. ‘Is that why you led us into this wasteland?’ he asked, gesturing to the rolling dunes which surrounded them and the high crags which marked the horizon. ‘It seems empty of anything save sand.’

‘Is that what you think?’ Mannfred threw back his head and laughed. ‘These are not sands, at least not entirely – they are blood. Reduced to powder, drained of all vitality, but blood all the same.’ He swept his arms out. ‘For a thousand years, the lands which once made up the Blood Wastes were fought over by the Duchies of Gheist, whose nobles rode great bats to war, rather than horses. But then came Nagash, and, well…’ Mannfred leaned back. ‘Here, Stormcast, is the will of Nagash made manifest. A desert of broken stones, covered in red sands and haunted by the ghosts of the slain and the great beasts they once rode to battle.’

‘We have seen no ghosts,’ Tarsus said.

‘We will,’ Mannfred said. He gestured lazily to a point over Tarsus’ shoulder. The Lord-Celestant turned and his eyes widened. He had thought the wind had been bad before, but what was now coming over the distant dunes towards them was of a far greater magnitude: a roiling wall of sand – no, blood, he reminded himself – sweeping across the landscape, blotting out the sky and stars overhead.

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A Black Library Publication

First published as an audio drama in Great Britain in 2015.
This eBook edition published in 2018 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by James Ryman.

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ISBN: 978-1-78572-974-4

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