Fangs of the Rustwood - Evan Dicken Read online

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  Fangs of the Rustwood – Evan Dicken

  About the Author

  An Extract from ‘Gloomspite’

  A Black Library Publication

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  Fangs of the Rustwood

  by Evan Dicken

  In his time with the Order of Azyr, Kantus Valo had trekked through many perilous places – from the Bruteplains of Ghur to the feculent mires that had spread like tumours across the once beautiful forests of Ghyran. And yet, few places had been so menacing as the Rustwood.

  What began as a respectable path had tapered to a tightrope of dirt. Razorweed loomed on either side of the trail, shredding cloaks and flesh at the slightest misstep. Scrubbing a hand across his sweat-streaked brow, the witch hunter gingerly stepped over a thick patch of mirrorvine, only to leap back as something fell from the branches overhead. A daggerlike leaf flashed past Kantus’ face to clatter in the brush below.

  He glanced warily up at the canopy. It was late afternoon, but the tangled branches almost blotted out Chamon’s ruddy bronze sun.

  ‘You’re bleeding, lord.’ Bas, the commander of Kantus’ four guards, held out a bit of torn cloth, gesturing to the witch hunter’s face.

  Kantus raised a hand to his cheek, and his fingers came away wet with blood. He took the proffered rag, wrinkling his nose as he dabbed at the cut.

  ‘By Ghal Maraz, we’ll have to hack our way through.’ Bas removed his helmet to run a hand through his sweaty hair. ‘Those vines will blunt any blade we have.’

  ‘Then we shall blunt them. The Order of Azyr will not be kept waiting,’ Kantus ordered. On the map, the path ran right through the Rustwood, a far quicker journey to the Order’s stronghold at Eshunna than the old Lantic road through the Iron Desert.

  ‘Lads won’t like that.’ The veteran sucked air through his teeth. ‘Not with night approaching.’

  ‘We must press on.’

  ‘And the prisoners, lord?’ Bas winced.

  ‘I shall see to the prisoners.’

  Haste was not his only reason for passing through the Rustwood. As much as Bas and the other guards were discomfited by the journey, the forest’s danger hung like a noose around the necks of Kantus’ prisoners, drawing tighter with each step. Those in fear were less able to mind their tongues, more likely to let something slip.

  And Kantus would be there when it did.

  With a ragged salute, Bas turned away, calling for the other guards to break out axes.

  The witch hunter made his way to the back of their tiny column where his three charges shuffled, chained hand and foot in a short coffle attached to the back of an ibuq. The great land lizard shuffled along with its rolling, splay-legged gait, its long rasp of a tongue flicking out to nervously test the air. The metal chest and supply packs on its back rattled around.

  ‘Apologies, lord.’ The guard, Yusán, tugged the ibuq’s rein as the witch hunter approached. ‘Something’s got her spooked.’

  Kantus held out his hand.

  ‘You are needed up front.’

  ‘Thank you, lord.’ Yusán handed over the reins with a look of relief. ‘Don’t know how much more doomsaying I could stand.’

  Kantus dismissed the guard, then turned to regard the lead prisoner.

  ‘You must turn back, before it is too late,’ the tall man in ragged robes wailed. Elabrin’s hair was unkempt, his once neatly combed beard now wild. Runes of negation were etched into his manacles, their soft glow casting the mage’s face in harsh relief and lending him a threadbare, nervous aspect like prey caught out upon an open plain.

  ‘Eyes like burning coals glitter in hungry shadow.’ Elabrin took a shaky breath. ‘We are as insects, struggling upon the surface of a still pond. Be still, be still!’

  ‘Enough prophecies, sorcerer. They’re what put you in chains in the first place,’ the second prisoner, Garrula Heko, growled, glaring at the back of Elabrin’s head as if she wanted to stab a knife in it. From what Kantus knew of Heko’s unsavoury reputation, she would have no qualms about killing the mage. Small and lithe as a gutter viper, with a round face and deep-set eyes, Heko cut an unassuming figure. But if Governor Bettrum’s journals could be believed, she was a purveyor of the most illicit and baneful toxins, linked to over a dozen poisonings over the past decade.

  ‘I am but a mouthpiece,’ Elabrin sighed, his voice taking on a weary tone.

  ‘It is not your prophecies that concern me.’ Kantus rested one hand on the pommel of his duelling sword. ‘But what steps you might have taken to realise them.’

  ‘Governor Bettrum would have brought doom to Uliashtai.’ Elabrin shifted with a clatter of chains. ‘I do not deny I prophesied this, but I did not murder him.’

  ‘That remains for the Order to determine.’ It was highly unorthodox, Kantus’ superiors demanding to see to the matter personally, but Governor Bettrum hailed from an old Azyrite family, one with connections that stretched throughout the Mortal Realms. And if Kantus understood anything, it was the importance of connections – favours paid and owed, the invisible currency of Azyrite society, one far more valuable than gold.

  As the fifth son of a minor noble family, Kantus had joined the Order of Azyr to root out corruption and rid the realms of the heretical filth that gnawed at the roots of civilisation. If he happened to rise through the ranks of the Order in the bargain, it would only mean he was better placed to do Sigmar’s holy work.

  The witch hunter regarded the three prisoners. One of them was a murderer and a heretic. If two innocents needed to suffer to find the guilty party, such was the price of justice.

  ‘Lord Bettrum was slain sometime in the night. His bodyguards saw no one enter or leave, there was no sign of a struggle, no forced entry and nothing out of place – this suggests sorcery.’

  ‘He’s got you there, mage,’ Heko drawled.

  ‘Or poison,’ Kantus countered. Governor Bettrum had tracked Heko for years, but had been unable to link her to a single murder. It would be quite the coup for Kantus to visit Sigmar’s justice upon such a traitor.

  ‘This still does not explain why you dragged me from my garrison, witch hunter.’ Captain Lim met Kantus’ gaze with unflinching calm. The third of his suspects, Lim was a broad-shouldered woman who bore her chains with the easy familiarity of someone used to bulky armour.

  Kantus gave the captain a thin smile. ‘Your disagreements with the governor are well known.’

  ‘Hardly a condemnation.’ The captain’s lip curled, revealing several missing teeth. ‘If I wanted Bettrum dead, I would have challenged him to a duel.’

  ‘Like you did Captain Hardanger?’

  Her jaw pulsed. ‘Hardanger was a drunk. Inebriation and high ramparts make for poor bedfellows.’

  ‘Be that as it may, you gained from your old captain’s death, just as you stand to gain from Lord Bettrum’s.’ Kantus cocked his head. ‘Or did I misread your petition to be named interim governor?’

  ‘I have fought for Uliashtai my whole life, bled for it.’ Lim stiffened. ‘I would die for my city.’

  ‘Kill for it, too, I presume,’ Kantus replied. ‘The captain of the city guard would be intimately familiar with the governor’s security, the layout of his chambers, patrol routes, perhaps even his nightly routine.’

  The captain lapsed into cold silence.

  ‘Lord Bettrum’s body bore only one wound – on his stomach, just below the ribs,’ Kantus said. ‘None of his servants were aware of the injury, and yet the wound had putrefied, dark vein
s spreading through the governor’s body, paralysing him long before the corruption reached his heart. He died alone and in great pain, unable to even call for help. Do any of you know what might have caused such a death?’

  ‘They tread silken paths, delicate and deadly. Legs like knives, mouths like daggers.’ Elabrin let out a soft moan, but Kantus remained watching the other two prisoners.

  Lim gave no reaction.

  Heko, however, did.

  It was slight – a tick at the corner of the poisoner’s mouth, a narrowing of her eyes – and yet it was the first crack in Heko’s mask. Now, Kantus only needed to widen it.

  ‘Heko, let me see your manacles.’ The witch hunter reached for the keys at his belt. ‘I wish to speak with–’

  A scream from the front of the convoy, from where the guards had travelled out of sight, drowned out the witch hunter’s order.

  Kantus drew his blade, gripping the rein of the snorting ibuq tighter. But the trees were silent and still, leaves motionless in the gathering gloom.

  Yusán burst around the corner, running up to them. He was stripped to the waist, skin sheened with sweat, a chipped axe clutched in his white-knuckled hands.

  ‘Lord, come quickly,’ Yusán panted. ‘Herat fell.’

  ‘Stay with the prisoners. If any run, cut them down.’ With a curse, Kantus dodged past the wide-eyed guard. The path curved around the great bole of a serashem tree and up a small rise. Kantus crested the hill to see Bas and another guard feverishly hacking a long section of mirrorvine from the lower branches. Herat was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Watch your step, lord.’ Bas grabbed Kantus’ shoulder, preventing him from stumbling headlong into the pit that bisected the path. The old veteran’s face was bone pale, his eyes tight and worried.

  The pit was about ten feet wide and perhaps twice as deep, with an uneven, roughly excavated look. Herat lay splayed across the bottom, moaning faintly. Blood pooled around the sharpened stakes that pierced her body. Kantus noticed a disturbing, oily sheen to the wood, far different from the quicksilver sap of freshly cut serashem.

  ‘Tie this off.’ Bas handed the cut vine to the other guard, throwing the length into the pit. ‘I’m going down.’

  Another pained moan came from the pit.

  ‘Get her out. Quickly. I’m less worried about the pit than whatever fashioned it. Fishing her out for too long will leave us exposed.’ Kantus shook his head, his dreams of power and patronage vanishing like morning mist. ‘Then the Order will have to wait. We are turning back.’

  ‘Thank you, lord.’ Bas gave a grateful nod.

  Kantus sheathed his blade, stepping up to help lower Bas. The mirrorvine scraped across his gloves as he let the length play out, the other guard braced behind him.

  Bas took the descent slowly. With each step loose dirt trickled down upon Herat.

  ‘Almost there,’ the veteran called up. ‘Keep it steady, a moment more and I’ll have her.’

  Elabrin’s panicked shriek echoed up the path. ‘Their eyes are upon us!’

  Unable to see the prisoners down the tree-shrouded hill, Kantus half-turned to shout at the mage for silence, but the vine suddenly jerked in his hands, dragging him towards the pit.

  As Kantus teetered over the edge, he saw what had snagged the vine. One of Bas’ boots had triggered some manner of snare set into the side of the pit. This had released a tensioned branch anchored in the other wall. The branch, covered in long, thin spines, had whipped across to sink into the veteran’s exposed back.

  Bas let out a soft cough, blood painting his lips.

  ‘Hold on!’ The witch hunter fought to regain his balance. ‘We will pull you out.’

  ‘Skittering! Crawling!’ Elabrin’s voice had risen to a mad howl. ‘Struggling only draws the noose tighter!’

  Something fell from the branches above the witch hunter, dropping upon the guard behind him. Little more than an angular blur in the gloom, the spider was about the size of a large gryph-hound, with a bulbous body and profusion of long, slashing legs. The unfortunate guard shrieked as it sunk vicious fangs into his neck.

  Unable to anchor the vine alone, Kantus was forced to let go or be dragged into the pit. The heavy thud from below was like a spear driven into the Kantus’ his breast. Anger and despair warred within him. He reached for the fury, let it lend him strength. Only survivors could mourn the dead.

  Snatching his blade from his belt, Kantus charged the spider. An arrow hissed by the witch hunter’s face, and, with a start, he realised there was a grot crouched atop the beast, giggling and howling as the spider mauled Kantus’ guard.

  He slashed at the grot, a looping strike that lopped the top from the creature’s bow and carved a thin red line across its hateful face. Instead of recoiling, the grot leapt at him, spitting blood as it brandished a wickedly curved dagger.

  Kantus pivoted, the grot’s slash cutting fabric rather than flesh. Before it could attack again, Kantus slashed it across the chest then kicked the shrieking creature into the pit.

  A flicker of motion at the edge of his vision gave Kantus warning just before the spider leapt at him. He spun, blade piercing the chitin just above the creature’s dripping fangs, sliding through its head into its body. The beast’s knife-sharp legs cut long gashes on the witch hunter’s shins, its jaws gnashing inches away from his exposed flesh. But he bore down, teeth gritted, and finally the creature’s spasms stopped.

  Panting, Kantus gave the blade one final twist and stood, prepared for more grots to leap from the dark branches, but the forest remained still and silent.

  After a long moment, Kantus glanced down at the spider-bitten guard. Foam dribbled from lips that had turned a deep, bruised purple. His eyes bulged sightlessly from his head, and his hands were hooked into agonised claws.

  Suddenly, a yell pierced the night. Kantus hurried back towards the prisoners. As he approached, he saw Yusán trying to control the terrified ibuq, while Heko and Captain Lim stood head to head. From this distance, he could only hear snippets of what they were saying.

  ‘I warned you, captain,’ Heko hissed. ‘If you–’

  The rest of the woman’s words were drowned out by a loud moan from Elabrin.

  ‘Too late…’ The mage turned his bloodshot eyes on Kantus. ‘Far too late.’

  ‘What happened?’ Yusán’s voice cracked. ‘Where are Bas and the others?’

  Kantus shook his head.

  Captain Lim shifted with a jangle of heavy chains. ‘I am sorry. They seemed like good soldiers.’

  ‘They were.’ Kantus gathered up the ibuq’s reins, dragging the beast’s head around as it snorted and stamped, pale yellow eyes terrified.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Heko asked.

  ‘It is too dangerous to press forward,’ Kantus replied. ‘We must head back and take the old Lantic road.’

  ‘You will never leave this forest.’

  Elabrin’s words sent a shiver up Kantus’ spine.

  ‘Quiet, mage, before I gag you.’

  ‘He’s right, actually,’ Captain Lim said. ‘I’ve fought the Spiderfang before. That grot back there was just a scout. There are probably a dozen more closing in on us right now.’

  Kantus tugged at the ibuq, scowling as the lizard tossed its heavy head in agitation. ‘And what would you have me do?’

  The captain held up her manacled hands.

  ‘Free us.’

  ‘And risk the murderer slipping a dagger into my back?’

  ‘You’ll never outrun the Spiderfang, not like this,’ Lim replied. ‘When they come, and they will come, you are going to need every blade.’

  As if to echo the captain’s warning, a low, hollow drumming echoed through the forest, still distant, the direction impossible to place.

  ‘What use is any of this if we’re all dead?’ Heko asked.
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br />   Kantus glanced at Elabrin, but the mage was staring sadly at his feet, silent for once. Yusán seemed on the verge of panic, terrified gaze sweeping the darkened branches, his axe gripped in white-knuckled fists.

  ‘If I am going to die, let me do it with a blade in my hands.’ Lim shook her chains. ‘Not bound and hobbled like a beast marked for slaughter.’

  Kantus felt a rare uncertainty well up through the cracks in his resolve. The captain was right – if he continued as planned, he would never reach the Order’s stronghold, never stand before his superiors with the revelation of who murdered the governor.

  Knowing he had no other choice, Kantus set his jaw and drew the key from his belt and opened the chest secured to the ibuq’s back. Throwing the lid back, he revealed the weapons and equipment he had seized from the prisoners.

  ‘Lord?’ Apprehension whetted Yusán’s question to razor sharpness. ‘Is that wise?’

  Kantus gave no reply, instead turning to unlock the chains binding the prisoners.

  ‘You should get rid of the ibuq. It will slow us down.’ Captain Lim retrieved her blade from the land lizard’s back. ‘Drive it into the forest. The noise might distract the Spiderfangs.’

  ‘I thought you said we couldn’t outrun them.’ Heko massaged her chafed wrists as Kantus removed her manacles and leg irons.

  ‘We cannot.’ The captain tried a few practice cuts in the air, then nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘But that does not mean we shouldn’t try.’

  Heko nodded, helping herself to her crossbow, quiver and brace of daggers from the chest.

  ‘Promise me, when the time comes…’ Elabrin’s eyes were little more than shadowed hollows in a face weathered as old parchment. His gaze flicked to Kantus’ blade then back to the witch hunter’s face. ‘Do not let them take me alive.’

  ‘No one is taking you anywhere but me,’ Kantus replied.

  Elabrin’s laugh was almost a sob.

  The clang of boots on fallen leaves caused Kantus to turn. He saw Heko sprinting down the path towards the pit.

  ‘Do not let these two move,’ the witch hunter growled to the guard. With a curse, he ran after Heko, rounding the bend in the trail to see her kneeling by the dead spider.