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The Witch Takers – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Witch Takers

C. L. Werner

Mangled bodies lay stretched under the blazing desert sun. Puddles of blood glistened in the light. The gory litter lay scattered in a patch of carnage dozens of yards wide, broken weapons and severed limbs half buried in the scale-like metal sands of Droost.

In the very midst of the havoc, an ugly pit yawned. The piles of sand and broken stone marked it as a recent excavation. The jumble of old bones and rusted armour strewn about the opening served as silent testament to the callous looting of the uncovered tomb.

‘Tal, is there anything down there?’ The question was voiced by a tall and powerfully built woman. Long locks of deep golden hair peaked out from under the hood of the white cloak Esselt wore. There was an expression of deep concern on her well-defined features. Her gloved hands kept a firm grip on the immense silver-bladed greatsword she held at her side.

In response to Esselt’s query, a man emerged from the shadowy tomb. He was more compactly built, wolfish in form and a few inches shorter. He, too, wore a white cloak, though it was now greyed with the dust and grit of an ancient grave. His swarthy face had a pinched, almost hungry look to it, his moustached lip drawn back in irritation. Keen eyes studied the broken stones where robbers had smashed their way into the crypt. With a sigh, Talorcan shook his head.

‘Nothing, Esselt,’ he declared. He waved his gloved hand at the bodies strewn all around them. ‘Vulture scum they may have been, but they were very thorough. I don’t think there is so much as a strand of hair they didn’t drag out of there.’ He stepped over to one of the corpses, a body more complete than some of its mutilated companions. With the edge of his boot he kicked it onto its side. As it rolled over, a brand on the dead man’s forehead was revealed. A single hieroglyph depicting the slouching figure of a hyena.

‘The brand of thieves,’ Esselt observed. ‘The same as the man we found in Skra Voln.’ A hardness swept into her voice. ‘This is where the murderers came from.’

Talorcan inspected the ground, carefully noting the disturbances in the sand. ‘Only one set of tracks lead away from here. From here to Skra Voln… and the massacre.’ As he made his study of the bodies, he began removing objects from them. A bronze breastplate, a jewelled dagger, rings and necklaces. From one man’s fingers he pried away a vicious-looking sword.

‘Grave robbers who argued over their plunder,’ Esselt growled. ‘After murdering their comrades, the rest must have gone to Skra Voln to slake their bloodlust.’

‘Only one set of tracks,’ Talorcan reminded her. ‘When we reached Skra Voln, except for the herdsman who discovered the massacre, there was only one set of tracks going into the village.’ He turned the sword around so that Esselt could see what he had discovered. The grip of the sword was formed from a gnarled curl of bone, but its pommel was fashioned from blackened steel.

Instinctively, Esselt drew back, alarm shining in her eyes. She recognised the grisly symbol the pommel had been shaped into. None of the witch takers of the Order of Azyr were unaware of the Skull Rune, emblem of the Chaos God, Khorne.

‘Grace of Sigmar, Tal!’ Esselt cursed.

‘This is the madness of the Blood God,’ Talorcan said, gesturing at the carnage around them. ‘Looks like this tomb was something more than the robbers bargained for. The grave of some champion of the Dark Gods. When they broke in here, they unleashed something. Some infernal force that provoked them to… this.’

Esselt shook her head. ‘And the victor carried his murdering frenzy with him to Skra Voln. Praise the God-King the evil died with him.’

Talorcan was looking at the collection of grave goods he had removed from the thieves. Every body had yielded up something. ‘When we examined the branded corpse in Skra Voln, there was nothing that was remarkable about him. No treasure that could have come from this tomb.’

‘No,’ Esselt said. ‘There was nothing. Only the tattered rags he was wearing.’ She looked at the pile of loot Talorcan had gathered. ‘Every man had his share. The thief at the oasis should have had something.’

‘But he didn’t,’ Talorcan stated, a haunted look stealing into his eyes. He suddenly dashed across the sands to where they had hobbled their animals. The demi-gryphs squawked in protest as he rummaged through the saddle bags. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a big metal flask with a dragonhide stopper. He returned hurriedly, removing the stopper from the flask and dousing the pile of grave goods with its contents. Metal and jewels began to smoke and bubble as the alchemical concoction spilled onto them.

‘We will destroy this filth,’ Talorcan said. ‘Then we must make haste back to Skra Voln.’ He gave Esselt a grim look. ‘I fear I followed the wrong trail. I wanted to see where the killer came from. I did not think to follow any trail leading away from Skra Voln.’

‘You believe someone survived the massacre?’ Esselt asked.

‘A survivor or someone who came upon the scene before the herdsmen did,’ Talorcan said. ‘Either way, whoever it was took something.’

‘The killer’s share of the treasure,’ Esselt stated, watching as the other plunder was swiftly reduced to a molten puddle. ‘Some cursed relic from a heretic’s tomb.’

Talorcan nodded, looking across the havoc around them. ‘Something from the grave of a champion of the Blood God. Something damned by the filth of Chaos. Something that could possess a man and make him ferocious enough to commit such atrocities. Something that may pass its curse along to whoever carries it.’

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A Black Library Publication

Published in Great Britain in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by John Michelbach.

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ISBN: 978-1-78572-851-8

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