Fangs of the Rustwood - Evan Dicken Read online

  ‘Calm yourself, witch hunter.’ Heko used one of her daggers to cut into the spider’s mouth, deftly working the blade around to remove a bloodied bit of viscera. ‘Venom sac. The spiders may be immune to it, but I’m willing to bet the grots aren’t.’

  She slit it open, then dipped her daggers and quarrels into the venom.

  Kantus drew his blade. ‘How does a person come to know so much about poisons?’

  ‘That’s a foolish question.’ Heko stood. Sheathing her dagger, she stepped around Kantus, apparently untroubled by the blade hovering inches away from her throat. ‘A good purveyor knows all her trappings.’

  Kantus did not lower his blade.

  ‘I didn’t murder Bettrum, witch hunter.’

  ‘The governor wanted to see you hanged.’

  ‘The governor was an imbecile.’ Her lip curled into a half-snarl. ‘What was Bettrum’s count? A dozen murders, and he couldn’t find one shred of evidence to link me to them. Why would I poison someone that inept?’

  Before the witch hunter could answer, Lim jogged up, heavy boots thudding on the path. The captain had helped herself to a pack and torches from the ibuq’s back.

  ‘You caught her.’ Lim raised her own sword. ‘Now, kill this criminal and be done with it.’

  ‘I administer justice here, not you, captain,’ Kantus said.

  ‘Elabrin is a mad old man. I am a Freeguild captain with years in Sigmar’s service. She is as dangerous as the grots.’ Lim gestured to Heko. ‘She is the assassin, a poisoner with a dozen killings to her name. The answer is clear, witch hunter. We do not have time to argue.’

  ‘You are correct.’ Kantus sheathed his sword and turned to move. ‘We do not.’

  The witch hunter’s shoulders tensed as he jogged down the path, but neither the captain nor the poisoner stuck a blade in his back. He paused to retrieve a pack of supplies from the ibuq’s back, then slapped the beast on the haunch to set it careening into the forest. It was almost fully dark now, the trees little more than smudged shadows at the edge of the path.

  ‘I will light our path,’ Elabrin said as the others jogged up.

  The mage muttered a few words, and an orb of soft blue light appeared in the air above the witch hunter. Without another word, they hurried down the path.

  ‘How is it these creatures can hunt so close to Uliashtai?’ Kantus asked between panting breaths.

  ‘I wanted to lead patrols through the Rustwood,’ Lim replied. ‘But the governor thought our forces were better deployed elsewhere.’

  They ran through the corroded gloom for what seemed an eternity, grot drums echoing around them steady as the beat of a hideous heart.

  Branches trembled in the murky dark, angular shadows skirting the circle of Elabrin’s light. The trees opened into a clearing where someone had piled a small cairn of earth and stone.

  Heko leapt atop the mound, levelling her crossbow at the path ahead. ‘They’re all around us.’

  Red eyes glittered in the gloom. With mounting desperation, Kantus noticed the slick flash of chitin glinting in the pale blue light.

  Lim drew her blade. ‘This seems as good a place to die as any.’

  ‘We need to find cover,’ Kantus said, casting about for something to shelter behind.

  ‘Lord, over there!’ Yusán gestured towards where more cairn stones formed a natural barrier. The guard had barely taken a step towards the cover when an arrow flicked from the shadows to strike him just above the collar bone. Yusán raised one trembling hand, probing at the wound as if to assure himself of its reality. Blood dribbled down his chin as he opened his mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a wet rasp.

  Another arrow thudded into the young guard’s chest, and he toppled limply to the ground.

  Elabrin raised his hands, words of power spilling from his cracked lips. The mage’s voice took on an uncanny resonance – not quite an echo, but more as if another inhuman voice were incanting the words and Elabrin merely repeated them. Beams of pale radiance criss-crossed the clearing like the web of a mad spider.

  Kantus watched, wide-eyed, as a grot arrow flitted along one of the beams, the glow winking out a moment after the arrow thudded into the ground.

  ‘Beware the light,’ Elabrin called. ‘Our attackers cannot see it, but it will mark the path of their missiles before they fire.’

  As if to echo the mage’s words, a shaft of light illuminated Kantus’ shoulder, and he stepped aside as an arrow hissed past.

  Shielded by Elabrin’s sorcery, he and his companions slunk and ducked around the clearing, arrows hissing harmlessly by. Heko sent a bolt of her own into the jagged shadows, grinning as a grot tumbled from the branches to crash bonelessly to the ground.

  Again, Elabrin’s incantation split the air, this time summoning a spinning maelstrom of tiny comets around the mage. Arcane wind blew his hair and beard into wild gusts as he set the points of light streaking into the trees, their impacts marked by chittering shrieks.

  Chitin cracked and spiders dropped from the branches to skitter at the mage, their riders brandishing crooked spears and long, serrated knives.

  Kantus swept in front of Elabrin and ran through one of the grots as Lim hacked at its mount. Her heavier blade sheared through the spider’s bloated body, spattering all of them with bits of oily viscera. One of Heko’s bolts caught another rider in the shoulder, and the grot tumbled from its mount, convulsing as white foam poured from its mouth.

  A spider dropped onto Kantus’ back. Off balance, he twisted to dislodge it, pitching forward as he broke free of the creature’s knife-like legs. Impact with the ground knocked the wind from the witch hunter. He clenched his jaw against the white after-images flickering across his vision and rolled over just in time to raise his blade to meet the spider’s skittering leap.

  The spider’s legs scrabbled for purchase even as its fangs twitched closer to Kantus’ throat, stopped only by his blade. On the creature’s back, its grot rider screeched and spat, stabbing at the witch hunter with its crooked-bladed spear.

  Kantus shifted in the stony dirt, desperate to avoid the spear and fangs, both of which were undoubtedly poisoned. Unable to throw the spider, he grabbed the blade of his sword. The sharp edge cut through his glove and into his hand, but he only cursed and sawed the sword across the spider’s mouth. It made a high-pitched shriek and scuttled back into the darkened trees, leaving a trail of greenish-yellow blood.

  Kantus had no sooner rolled to his knees when the screeching grot returned from the shadows. The witch hunter threw himself to the side to avoid the Spiderfang’s spear thrust, reaching up to grab the haft of the spear and drag the grot down. Unable to bring their weapons to bear, the two struggled on the ground. Kantus hammered a fist into the grot’s ribs, then screamed as the little monster sank its fangs into his bicep.

  Filthy fingernails clawed at the witch hunter’s face, reopening the cut on Kantus’ cheek as the grot tried to hook a claw into his eye. Kantus wedged his blade between the grot’s jaws in an attempt to pry it free from his arm. He felt the creature try to pull away, and reached up to hook his bloody fingers behind its head. The grot shrieked and struggled, but slowly, Kantus ground its hideous face into his bared blade. Hot ichor spilled across the witch hunter’s arm as the sharp edge cut into the grot’s flesh.

  At last its jaws released, and Kantus hurled the beast aside. Struggling to his feet, he ran it through before the grot could scamper off into the night.

  A glance around the clearing showed Lim engaged with a pair of spider riders, and Heko atop the cairn, launching bolt after bolt into the canopy. The sight of his prisoners surrounded by grots sent a shiver of helpless fury through Kantus. He had led them all to their deaths, and every moment brought him closer to failing in his mission to present Governor Bettrum’s murderer to the Order.

  Elabrin’s scream cut the air
as a rope of webbing caught his leg. He clawed at the dirt as the unseen spiders dragged him from the clearing.

  Kantus lunged after the screaming mage, dropping his sword to catching Elabrin’s flailing arm with both hands.

  ‘No!’

  The witch hunter pulled until he thought his shoulders might tear. But with hands slick with blood and the dead spider’s ichor, it was hard for Kantus to get a good grip. Slowly, Elabrin slipped from his grasp.

  ‘Please.’ The mage’s voice was terrified. ‘Do not let them–’

  His plea was choked off as a strand of webbing looped around Elabrin’s neck, jerking the mage from Kantus’ hands.

  The witch hunter spun to snatch up his blade, thinking to cut the webbing. When he turned back, Elabrin was gone, his thin, choked wail vanishing amidst the retreating thunder of Spiderfang drums.

  As if to punctuate the mage’s fate, Elabrin’s magical light flickered and disappeared, reducing the clearing to almost total darkness.

  Kantus put his back against a tree, sword at the ready, but no new monstrosities leapt from the shadows. Even the drums had fallen silent for the moment.

  Panting, he rooted around in his pack for a torch. The firelight showed a scene of slaughter, grot and spider bodies strewn across the clearing, the cairn stones stained with dark ichor.

  There was a spark in the shadows, then a bright flare as another torch was lit. Heavy footfalls approached. Squinting into the glare, Kantus discerned Lim’s broad-shouldered shadow. The captain sported a nasty gash across her forehead and several bloody patches on her uniform.

  ‘Elabrin?’ she asked.

  ‘Taken.’ Kantus frowned. ‘And Heko?’

  Lim nodded at the cairn, lifting her torch so Kantus could see the smuggler’s body curled upon the bloodstained stones.

  Kantus shook his head. ‘Why did the Spiderfangs withdraw?’

  ‘To toy with us,’ Lim replied. ‘Why else?’

  Despair settled on Kantus’ shoulders, heavy as a sodden cloak.

  ‘We should keep moving.’ He straightened. One prisoner remained to him, he would deliver her to the Order or die in the attempt.

  Captain Lim gave a solemn nod. ‘Edge of the forest can’t be too far, now.’

  In truth, Kantus did not know. He stepped towards Heko’s body.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lim asked.

  ‘Heko’s equipment might hold the key to your exoneration.’ Kantus knelt to retrieve the smuggler’s crossbow and daggers. ‘I had neither the time nor resources to examine her blades back in Uliashtai, but at the Order’s stronghold I may be able to find traces of the poison that killed Governor Bettrum.’

  At first, it seemed as if Heko had succumbed to the throes of spider venom, until Kantus noticed the dark veins of corruption threading her neck. With surprise, he realised her hands were similarly afflicted, her fingernails the exact shade of bruised purple that Governor Bettrum’s had been.

  The back of Kantus’ neck prickled. Suddenly, he felt very exposed.

  A boot scuffed on dirt, and the witch hunter threw himself aside as Lim’s blade struck sparks from the cairn stones.

  ‘Couldn’t leave well enough alone.’ Lim aimed another cut at the witch hunter’s head. ‘We could have left this forest together. Heko could have taken the blame. Everyone wins.’

  ‘Not Governor Bettrum.’ Kantus rolled to his feet. Tossing his torch at Lim’s face, he closed with a fast thrust.

  The captain batted his blade aside with her torch, then lunged, far quicker than Kantus had expected. Unable to block her heavier blade, he twisted to avoid the thrust, scoring a shallow cut on her forearm as he dodged past.

  Scowling, Lim flexed her hand. ‘The old mage was right – Bettrum would have doomed Uliashtai. The Spiderfang gather on our very doorstep, and what does he do? Dispatch half the city guard on desert patrol.’

  ‘It is not your place to question. The governor would be privy to information you were not.’

  In reply, Lim spat upon the ground.

  Kantus circled the captain. Although Lim was likely of equal strength to him, her blade was heavier. She was a soldier – used to the vicious cut and thrust of battle, but Kantus was a skilled duellist, Azyr-trained and blooded. Had this been a duel, he would have tried to tire her out and reopen her wounds, but time was not on his side. The Spiderfang could return at any moment.

  He launched a series of quick cuts, leaving his left side exposed. As the witch hunter had hoped, Lim thrust at his chest. He skipped aside and swung a wide cut at her face, twisting his wrist at the last moment to aim the backswing at her throat.

  Unable to block the cut, the captain surprised Kantus by dropping her torch and reaching up to catch his blade. Blood welled through her thick glove, the only thing having prevented her from losing her hand. She screamed as Kantus tried to rip the sword free, but held firm.

  Her own blade came up, and Kantus desperately hooked her wrist with his free hand. Lim’s breath was hot on his cheek as they twisted and strained, each trying to force their blade closer to the other. The captain was strong, but every moment saw Kantus’ sword bite deeper into the flesh of her palm.

  A heartbeat, perhaps two and it would be at her throat.

  The captain twisted her blade’s hilt, and, with a soft click, a small blade sprang from the base of its pommel. Little more than a finger’s width, the concealed blade had a sickly purple sheen, its edges glistening with vile toxin as it hovered mere inches from Kantus’ eye.

  ‘I had hoped to spare you this.’ Lim shifted to put her weight behind the blade, bearing down.

  The witch hunter’s arms trembled with strain. Desperately, he drove a knee into Lim’s stomach, and the captain let out a surprised breath. In the momentary weakness before she could catch her wind, Kantus jerked her blade away from his face. He meant to rip his own weapon free before she could bring the poisoned dagger to bear once more, but instead of stabbing at him, Lim dropped her blade and punched Kantus in the face.

  He staggered back, eyes watering as the captain hit him again, and again. Kantus tried to raise his blade, but his head spun, his movements jerky and wooden. Dully, he felt his sword ripped from his hand, then the cold bite of steel as Lim drove it into his midsection.

  Kantus fell back against the edge of the cairn, boots churning the bloody ground as he struggled to rise. It was as if Kantus were buried under the cairn rather than slumped against it. Through blurry eyes he watched the captain bend to retrieve her sword, straightening with a pained grunt.

  ‘I am sorry for this. You seem like a true servant of Sigmar. As for the others…’ Lim turned to nod at Heko’s corpse. ‘For all her faults, Heko was a great purveyor. She could get anything for anyone, and didn’t ask questions.’ The captain paused. ‘Perhaps she should have.’

  ‘Sigmar damn you.’ Kantus’ curse ended in a bloody cough.

  ‘If it is any consolation, you have saved Uliashtai.’ Lim offered him a bloody smile, stooping to retrieve her torch, then cocked her head as the Spiderfang drums began once more. ‘The death of a witch hunter will surely bring retribution on the grots.’

  Kantus tried to speak, but the words would not come.

  ‘Alas, I must leave you alive, I’m afraid. The spiders would avoid a poisoned corpse, but living prey…’ She took a few steps, and paused. ‘I will tell everyone you died a hero.’

  It was all Kantus could do to keep his dimming gaze fixed upon the captain’s back as she fled down the trail. At last, Lim’s light faded, leaving the witch hunter alone in a pool of guttering torchlight.

  No, he was not alone.

  Whisper-quiet, spiders gathered in the darkness above. Eyes glittering like coals in the hungry shadows, they descended on silken threads, legs like knives, mouths like daggers.

  About the Author

  Evan Dick
en has written the short story ‘The Path to Glory’ and the novella The Red Hours for Black Library. He has been an avid reader of Black Library novels since he found dog-eared copies of Trollslayer, Xenos and First and Only nestled in the “Used Fantasy/Sci-fi” rack of his local gaming store. He still considers himself an avid hobbyist, although the unpainted Chaos Warband languishing in his basement would beg to differ. By day, he studies old Japanese maps and crunches data at The Ohio State University.

  An extract from Gloomspite.

  Tobias Kench stepped from the tavern door into the cobbled street beyond. He wiped the blood from his knuckles and took a deep breath of cool evening air.

  ‘That’s better,’ he sighed, rolling his shoulders. The Wayward King rose at his back. The tavern was a slab-like architectural pile that looked as though it had been carelessly discarded rather than built. Its bottleglass windows were webbed with cracks, its heavy roof slates had begun to erode, and the rain-proofing was peeling down its frontage where the landlord had been remiss in his duties of care.

  Tobias wouldn’t have drunk in this dive if his life depended on it. He wouldn’t have drunk anywhere in the Pipers’ District, come to think of it. But the Wayward King was always good for working out the stresses of a bad day. It had got so that the regulars knew to get very quiet and attend their flagons of rotgut when Tobias walked in, but there was always someone who didn’t know better: docksnipes off the barges that came upriver from Hammerhal Aqsha, spending their ingots before they’d earned them; a local piper who’d scraped together enough dust to drink their resentment away in the cheapest dive in town while cursing their betters for their own misfortunes; ne’er-do-wells making sure to celebrate their latest score a safe distance from any who would place their faces. Some days it was just outsiders that he judged to be lacking in piety, or those Tobias suspected had turned from Sigmar’s light.

  Tobias would never take his fists to good, God-King-fearing folk. He would have been horrified at the thought. But the Wayward King never let him down.