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Ties of Blood – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Ties of Blood

Jamie Crisalli

The clouds shrouded the moon, and a thin knife of a ship slid over blood-tinged waters through a canyon of sandstone. Her oars sliced the water silently, her black sails lashed down. Out on the deck, Savrian, mortal descendant of Sarn the Everliving, pressed a scented silk cloth to his face to blot out the growing reek of blood.

Then the source of the dread stench hove into view. The Bastion of Red Dust, a mountain of basalt that loomed in the shattered canyon as if it had been hurled there from on high. Over time, the Sea of the Unwanted had filled the surrounding chasms and pooled at its feet, thick with the red dust that flowed off the fortress’ flanks. Axe-wielding idols crusted its towers and watched over the blood-soaked arenas. Only those who bore Khorne’s symbols could enter its singular gaping maw high above, to fight and die in the Blood God’s name.

Savrian leaned against the rail, black plate creaking. Behind him, his slaves carried a tray of elixirs and powders, breathlessly waiting in case he had a need. They attached his sabre, Malisette, to his belt and wiped his black armour down with scented oils. Malisette had been impregnated with the narcotic tears of Blessed Ones at its forging, and caused a dreamy exhaustion in its victims, draining away their fighting spirit so they could be taken alive.

His second in command, Issaya, waited nearby, her dark-skinned face impassive, cutting her forearm with a small razor.

‘Beloved, what is on your mind?’

Savrian started. He had not heard his wife, Cirine, approach. Suddenly he was aware of it all, the numbed skin, the near colourless vision, the aching joints, the muddled hearing. Beyond the damage from a lifetime of ecstatic devotion to Slaanesh, a near lethal poisoning by a rival seeking his crown had rendered him both decrepit and sterile. Fortunately his god-gifted beauty was untouched, his pale form still lean and graceful, his chiselled face still porcelain smooth, his hair still ink-black and lustrous. Yet, it was nothing more than a youthful shell over a worn and decaying carcass.

‘Just regrets,’ he said, though loath to admit it. ‘I know I shouldn’t. Regret implies fault.’ He sighed. ‘I should have realised Verigon was alive, that Chagorath took him. That Khornate wretch, he’s had my son for years. I should have taken Verigon with me that day. He is the only other true-born alive.’

He looked at Cirine, his dark purple eyes gleaming. The eyes of Sarn, the eyes of the immortal. It was no trinket or title that marked his line, but rather Sarn’s physical blessing that separated them from the masses.

‘We will retrieve Verigon before dawn,’ Cirine said, leaning against his shoulder. ‘Your plan is perfect. A scalpel instead of a hammer. Your son is as good as saved.’

She touched his arm, her thin black claws teasing his skin. Beautiful and obscene, Cirine was everything he wanted in a mate. Clad in filmy silk that hid nothing from the eye, she oozed with a sensuality that she frequently denied him. She was cruel but never boring.

‘You say that,’ he said. ‘But I do not have your confidence.’

He should. The plan was simple: infiltrate the fortress, retrieve Verigon, return the same way and then escape over the sea back to Sarn’s Rest, their ancestral home. They knew their route and their enemy. It was no more complicated than sneaking into a forbidden harem.

A small bottle was pressed into his hand and he swallowed the bitter mouthful that lay inside. A warmth diffused through him. His breathing quickened. Colours enriched, sound sharpened. The aches and pains faded. Yet, this was no youth in a bottle. Before the poisoning, such a dosage would have left him in a fugue state lasting for days. Now it barely returned him to normality.

Cirine leaned forward and licked his lips, tasting the bitter concoction.

‘What do you think of it, my love?’ she whispered.

‘I need something stronger,’ he said. ‘But it will do.’

The ship struck the craggy beach at the base of the fortress. Savrian leapt off the ship and offered Cirine his hand, which she grudgingly took as she stepped onto the beach. Issaya followed them, wary of threats.

Yeneya, his chief spy, joined them, a small slim woman still brushing at the red dust that marked her clothing. Of all the spies he had sent, only she had returned alive. ‘Sire, there is the way in,’ she said, pointing up.

High above them, small against the fortress’ vast black bulk, was a crack, a wound that glowed orange in the darkness. It was like a gateway into a different world.

Once they had disembarked, the ship slipped away into the shadows of the canyon, all but invisible in the dark.

Then the four of them bounded up the cliff face, the challenge no match for their superior agility.

When Savrian reached the crack, the torchlight from within half blinded him. He listened for a long moment but no one seemed nearby. With a deep breath, he slithered through and dropped down a few feet. Landing lightly, his boots sank into fine red sand. He stood in an empty hallway, torches burning greasily. Skulls grinned at him from every surface. A scream echoed, plucking at his nerves.

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A Black Library Publication

First published Inferno! Volume 2 in Great Britain in 2019.
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 Paul Dainton.

Ties of Blood © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2020. Ties of Blood, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, 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: 978-1-80026-409-0

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