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The Sands of Grief – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Sands of Grief

Guy Haley

‘I don’t like it here, master. Please, let us go. Too much magic, hurts my bones.’

‘Hush, Shattercap, they are nearly done, and then we can leave. Be patient.’

The second speaker was Maesa, a proud aelf prince in the bronze armour and green-and-grey clothing of the wayfarer peoples. The first was a vicious spite, a small, gangrel creature of ill intent. His appearance did nothing to disguise his nature. He was a clutch of bones and twiggy fingers, garbed in wizened green skin. From a small, apelike face, his button black eyes peered at the world with fearful malice, in marked contrast to the calm benevolence radiated by his keeper. But though a captive, Shattercap was more or less content to live among the folds of the prince’s cloak.

Content, because the aelf offered a way out of wickedness, and Shattercap desired that in a half-grasped way. Less, because the prince and the spite were at that time within the shop of Erasmus Throck and Durdek Grimmson, providers of the finest alchemical instruments in Glymmsforge in the Realm of Shyish, a place Shattercap feared greatly.

Throck and Grimmson were comical opposites. Grimmson was a stout duardin with a blue beard and bald head. Throck was a tall scrap of man with a shock of white hair and clean-shaven chin. The duardin rooted about behind the counter near the floor. The man was balanced upon rolling steps, searching cubbyholes high up by the ceiling.

Grimmson hauled out a leather-covered box and placed it on the glass counter top.

‘This is it, aelfling, the soul glass you wished for.’

Throck tutted from the top of the steps at his colleague.

‘Come now, Durdek! Prince Maesa is highborn and worthy of respect.’

Durdek’s granitic face maintained its scowl. ‘He’s an aelf, and I call it as I see it, Erasmus.’

Throck shook his head, and pulled the wheeled ladder along to the next stack of cubbyholes.

‘Don’t worry, your worthiness,’ said Grimmson to Maesa. ‘I’ve outdone myself for you. Look at this.’

With a delicacy his massive fingers seemed incapable of, Grimmson took out a tiny hourglass. Its bulbs were no bigger than a child’s clenched fists, decorated with delicate fretwork of silver and gold.

Durdek flicked open a lid in the glass’ top. ‘Life sand goes in here. Seal it. Tip it over when it’s near run out. Keep on with that to prolong the life within. Away you go. Very simple concept, but simple usage is no reason for drab work.’

‘We pride ourselves on the finest equipment,’ said Throck. ‘Durdek here makes the devices…’

‘…and it’s him as does the enchanting,’ said Durdek.

‘It is a beautiful piece,’ said Maesa. He took the hourglass from Grimmson and turned it over in his hands. ‘Such fine workmanship.’

Grimmson hooked his fingers into his belt, gave a loud sniff and pulled himself up proudly.

‘We do what we can.’

‘Aha! Here is the other item,’ said Throck. He jumped from the ladder. From a soft velvet bag, he took out a complex compass. It too had a lid in the top, covering over a small compartment. ‘A soul seeker. This should lead you to the realmstone deposit you seek.’

Grimmson took the glass and placed it carefully back into the box so Maesa could examine the compass.

Eight nested circles of gold, each free moving against the other, surrounded the central lidded well. On one side of the well was an indicator made in the shape of the hooked symbol of Shyish. Maesa pushed it with his finger. It spun silently through many revolutions at the gentlest touch.

‘It floats on a bath of ghostsilver,’ said Throck. ‘Very good work.’

‘Should be,’ said Shattercap. ‘For the money you are being paid.’

‘You get what you pay for,’ Grimmson growled. ‘Quality. We are Glymmsforge’s foremost makers of such devices.’

‘We are expensive, I admit, but you will find none better,’ said Throck.

‘Indeed,’ said Maesa. ‘I have no issue with the cost. Ignore my servant, he has yet to learn manners.’ He handed the compass back and produced a white leather pouch from his belt. ‘Five hundred black diamond chips, from the Realm of Ulgu, as you required.’

Grimmson took the bag from Maesa’s hand and tugged at the drawstring ready to count the contents.

Throck patted his partner’s burly arm. ‘That won’t be necessary. I am sure the prince is good to his word.’ Throck was awed by the prince’s breeding, and couldn’t help but give a short bow. Maesa returned the gesture with a graceful inclination of his head. Grimmson looked at them both fiercely.

‘You best be careful out there,’ the duardin said. ‘We sell maybe eight or nine of these a year, but the folks that buy them don’t always come to the best end. Most go out into the Sands of Grief, and vanish.’

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2018.by Black Library,
Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Yusen Song.

The Sands of Grief © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2018. The Sands of Grief, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, Warhammer, Warhammer Age of Sigmar, Stormcast Eternals, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-923-2

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