Inferno volume 5, p.1
Inferno! Volume 5, page 1
CRUSADE & OTHER STORIES
A Getting Started collection by various authors
• DARK IMPERIUM •
Guy Haley
Book one: DARK IMPERIUM
Book two: PLAGUE WAR
• THE HORUSIAN WARS •
John French
Book one: RESURRECTION
Book two: INCARNATION
Book three: DIVINATION
• VAULTS OF TERRA •
Chris Wraight
Book one: THE CARRION THRONE
Book two: THE HOLLOW MOUNTAIN
HONOURBOUND
Rachel Harrison
BLACKSTONE FORTRESS
Darius Hinks
BELISARIUS CAWL: THE GREAT WORK
Guy Haley
THE LAST CHANCERS: ARMAGEDDON SAINT
Gav Thorpe
RITES OF PASSAGE
Mike Brooks
KNIGHTS OF MACRAGGE
Nick Kyme
SACROSANCT & OTHER STORIES
A Getting Started collection by various authors
RULERS OF THE DEAD
Josh Reynolds & David Annandale
• HALLOWED KNIGHTS •
Josh Reynolds
Book one: PLAGUE GARDEN
Book two: BLACK PYRAMID
EIGHT LAMENTATIONS: SPEAR OF SHADOWS
Josh Reynolds
OVERLORDS OF THE IRON DRAGON
C L Werner
SOUL WARS
Josh Reynolds
CALLIS & TOLL: THE SILVER SHARD
Nick Horth
THIEVES’ PARADISE
Nick Horth
CODE OF THE SKIES
Graeme Lyon
GLOOMSPITE
Andy Clark
WARCRY
An anthology containing stories by various authors
GHOULSLAYER
Darius Hinks
BEASTGRAVE
C L Werner
NEFERATA: THE DOMINION OF BONES
David Annandale
KAL JERICO: SINNER’S BOUNTY
Josh Reynolds
UNDERHIVE
Various authors
An anthology featuring the novella Wanted: Dead by Mike Brooks
TERMINAL OVERKILL
Justin D Hill
ROAD TO REDEMPTION
Mike Brooks
LOW LIVES
Denny Flowers
KAL JERICO: THE OMNIBUS
Will McDermott and Gordon Rennie
Contains the novels Blood Royal, Cardinal Crimson
and Lasgun Wedding
Also available
INFERNO! VOLUME 1
INFERNO! VOLUME 2
INFERNO! VOLUME 3
INFERNO! VOLUME 4
by various authors
CONTENTS
Cover
Backlist
Title Page
Introduction
Watchers of Battle
No Quarter
Mournclaw
The Last Knight: Part One
River of Death
Respite’s End
No Matter the Cost
Curse of the Lucky
Best Death Wins
Regula’s Story
Consus’ Story
Amulius’ Story
Trail of Ash
Castle of the Exile
At the Sign of the Brazen Claw: Part Five
The Hounds of Nagash
About the Authors
An Extract from ‘Kal Jerico: Sinner’s Bounty’
A Black Library Publication
eBook license
INTRODUCTION
Welcome, brave traveller! You have come where many fear to tread; the perilous realm of Inferno!
Within these pages you will uncover occult knowledge, forgotten sagas of battle and glory, and the keys to lost lands and invaluable relics. But step carefully, for this is unexplored territory where doom lurks around every corner. Mighty foes and ferocious beasts lie in wait to challenge your martial skill. Only the strong will survive, and even they will be forever changed by their ordeal…
The fifth volume of Inferno! is upon us already, offering up thrilling tales from the worlds of Warhammer by a cavalcade of authors both old and new. This edition features twelve such stories, taking place in the war-torn galaxy of the 41st Millennium, the untamed wilds of the Mortal Realms and the treacherous underhive of Necromunda. And for the first time ever, we venture to the savage hellscape of the Eightpoints, the setting for Warcry, where Chaos-worshipping warbands engage in constant battle in the hope of joining Archaon’s all-conquering legions.
Many of the authors featured in this volume are making their Inferno! debuts, while others are long-standing Black Library favourites. Ben Counter, veteran author of the Soul Drinkers series, leads the charge with our cover story ‘Watchers of Battle’. Focusing on the Spire Tyrants, a warband that has left behind the fighting pits of Carngrad in favour of the far greater arena of the Bloodwind Spoil, this is a tale of bloodshed, glory and all-encompassing ambition, which provides an excellent introduction to the Warcry setting.
Guy Haley provides the climactic final instalment of the At the Sign of the Brazen Claw series, bringing Prince Maesa and company’s stories to a chilling end. Trapped in the inn, the travellers are forced to abandon storytelling and band together for survival as their world crumbles around them…
Graeme Lyon makes his second Inferno! appearance with a superb story that explores the volatile magic that infuses all of the Mortal Realms in the aftermath of the Shyish Necroquake.
Appearing in these pages for the first time are such formidable talents as Gareth Hanrahan, Ben Galley and Anna Stephens, established fantasy and science fiction authors who we are thrilled to welcome to the Warhammer universe. These are not the only luminaries making their first forays into Inferno!. In fact, no fewer than nine fantastic new authors – Marc Collins, Sean Grigsby, Rob J. Hayes, Michael R. Fletcher, Gavin G. Smith and Gary Kloster among them – bring their varied and distinctive writing styles to this edition. As always, it has been a joy to welcome these fresh faces into the halls of Black Library and experience new perspectives on familiar settings and factions. It is our intention to keep bringing you a host of excellent new authors with each edition of this anthology.
Ready yourself, for the time of reckoning is almost upon you. Tales of perilous quests, shadowy cults and endless war await. Don your battleplate, let the drums of war rattle your bones and know no fear as you face the darkness ahead. Raise your axe and charge headlong into the ravening hordes that gather on the horizon. Gods willing, you will emerge victorious.
Richard Garton
Submissions Editor, August 2019
WATCHERS OF BATTLE
Ben Counter
Black Library author Ben Counter’s Inferno! debut is also the first ever Inferno! story from the Warcry setting. It is a typically gory, visceral tale that explores the lengths one must go to in order to achieve true greatness in the eternal warzone of the Eightpoints.
As the warbands of four tribes converge on Bonebreak Pass, Voleska of the Spire Tyrants dreams of glory beyond battle and slaughter on the Bloodwind Spoil. As luck would have it, several of the Everchosen’s elite warriors have come to preside over the coming bloodshed and observe. This is Voleska’s chance to show her fighting prowess by crushing the savage Corvus Cabal, but how far must she go to prove herself worthy of joining the ranks of Archaon’s armies?
‘We’re a long way from Carngrad,’ said Kyryll as he trudged up the sludge and shale of the mountain slope.
Voleska looked up towards the sky and the peaks of the Fangs that surrounded them. ‘Not so far,’ she said.
‘Camp’s up ahead.’ Kyryll peered towards the scattering of bonfires and torches on the shoulder of the mountain above them. ‘Looks like the Blackblades and the Mercy Slayers made it.’
‘More to watch us,’ said Voleska. ‘More to weep.’
It had rained blood that night. Bonebreak Pass was clotted with coagulating gore. It formed a slow, black river along the pass, draining into the foothills of the Fangs, a sluggish bloodletting that formed a portent for what was to come. The pass was one of the few relatively stable ways past the Fangs and into the regions of the Bloodwind Spoil closer to the citadel of the Varanspire. Control of it had passed from one bloody hand to the next hundreds of times over the generations. Bones and shattered skulls mixed with the loose shale and formed natural cairns, pulled apart by the coagulating flow.
A lot of people had died there. A lot more were about to.
Voleska and Kyryll made their way through the encampment towards the hide tents and bivouacs of the Red Sand Raiders. Warbands from across the Bloodwind Spoil had gathered for the coming battle over Bonebreak Pass, and the banners of several Spire Tyrants bands hung from the spindly trees clinging to the upper slopes. On another day, they would be butchering one another for the right to be called the best among the Children of the Arenas. Tonight, they were allies against a common enemy.
Voleska pulled back the flap of the largest tent. Inside, Ferenk Sunder-Spine was scratching battle plans into the loose dirt. The Head-Taker of the Red Sand Raiders was a huge man with hundreds of finger bones piercing the skin of his arms and shoulders, each taken from a kill in the arena. He looked up at Vol eska’s intrusion.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
‘Scouted, like you said,’ replied Voleska.
Ferenk grunted and poked at the battle lines he had scratched. ‘What have you got?’
‘The Crows have the high ground at the northern end,’ replied Voleska. ‘They reckon they’ll swoop down on us and peck out our eyes.’
‘How many?’
Voleska shrugged. ‘Six, seven warbands. Couple of thousand ears hanging from the trees. Flocks of birds everywhere.’
‘Were you seen?’
Voleska smirked. ‘Look at me. Course I was seen.’
Ferenk looked at Voleska as if seeing her for the first time. She was huge. Most of the time the really big competitors failed to make their mark in the fighting pits of Carngrad – they were too slow and cumbersome, and a leg tendon got cut or a gut was punctured before they could bring their bulk around to face a faster enemy. The crowds whooped when they emerged onto the sands, and they cheered when they fell. But Voleska had climbed the ladder of victories to challenge the very best, all while carrying more heft than anyone in the Red Sand Raiders. She carried a stone-headed hammer over her shoulder – a less than ideal weapon for a pit fighter, but one she wielded as if she had been born with it in her hand. What skin showed beneath her heavy garb of layered animal hides and splint mail was tanned and battered, and her lank black hair was tied severely back to show off the scar taking up the right side of her scalp.
‘Not like they don’t know we’re here,’ mused Ferenk. ‘What about the Unmade? The Scions?’
‘The faceless mob are on the west side of the pass,’ replied Voleska. ‘Opposite the Splintered Fang. Doesn’t look like the Scions made it.’
‘Too busy annoying the gods,’ said Ferenk. ‘Here. Come.’
Voleska walked up to the battle plans Ferenk had scratched out. The torchlight in the tent cast flickering shadows across a crude diagram of Bonebreak Pass and the positions of the warbands. ‘What’s the plan?’ she asked.
‘Spire Tyrants don’t do subtle,’ said Ferenk. ‘No feints. No secret paths. No false retreats. We’re going straight down the middle. Storm the heights, hit the Cabal, kill them.’
Voleska nodded. ‘They think they own the mountains. They’re arrogant. They’ll try something. But we won’t fall for it. Straight down the middle.’
‘I saw you,’ said Ferenk. It was unexpected. He rarely said anything that wasn’t strictly necessary. ‘At the Gutripper Pits. Slavemaster Barakhor’s games. You killed four men.’
Voleska shrugged. ‘They were only small.’
‘The last one, you knocked his head clean off.’
‘Yes, that I did. Went right into the crowd. They called me the Gift-Giver after that.’
‘You fought well for us, Voleska. It was obvious enough, never had to say it. But a lot of us are going to die this dawn. Maybe someone important. Maybe me. The Red Sand Raiders will accept you if you want to step in. Do you want that, Gift-Giver?’
Ferenk looked at her now, piercing and intense, in a way he never had before. Voleska felt herself tense up, as if aware of an assailant trying to flank her. ‘I want… I want more,’ she said.
‘More than what?’
Voleska was rarely lost for words – like Ferenk, she didn’t use them when she didn’t have to. Now she had to fight to turn her thoughts into speech. ‘More than being… one among many. That’s what I fought for in the arenas, to be on my own at the top. That’s what it means to be a Spire Tyrant – we got to the top in the arenas and now we’re doing it in the Spoil. I’m not going to live and die as just another Red Sand Raider. That’s what I want. Something more.’
Ferenk nodded. ‘Maybe they’ll follow you, if it comes to that,’ he said. ‘But whether they will or not depends on tomorrow. Take some heads, give some gifts, I can make you my right hand. You want that?’
‘I’ll take what the Spoil gives me,’ replied Voleska.
‘Good,’ said Ferenk with finality. ‘Of course, first of all, you’ll have to survive.’
‘Not planning to do anything else,’ said Voleska.
‘With the dawn,’ concluded Ferenk, and turned back to his map of Bonebreak Pass.
‘With the dawn,’ agreed Voleska.
Outside, the night was turning chill. The moons were sinking as the night kept a jealous grip on the Fangs against the daybreak. The Spire Tyrants of their various warbands were resting, but few were asleep. They sparred and gambled, because the habits of the fighting pits never really left them.
‘What did you mean earlier?’ said Kyryll as Voleska emerged from the tent.
‘When?’
‘You said we weren’t so far from Carngrad.’
‘Because we aren’t,’ replied Voleska. ‘Back in Carngrad, we fought for the eyes of the audience. For the lords who might hire us. The crowds. Even each other, so we knew who to respect. You think it’s any different now?’
‘Not many arenas round these mountains,’ said Kyryll.
Voleska clipped him around the back of the head with her meaty palm. Kyryll wasn’t small, but he was smaller than her, and he cringed at the impact. ‘You’re an idiot,’ she said.
‘So who are you fighting for?’ retorted Kyryll. ‘For Ferenk?’
‘Him, among others,’ she said. ‘These other warbands will know not to stand in the Raiders’ way when they see us tear apart the Cabal. The Cabal will remember us, too, if we let any live. They’ll talk about the Ones Who Make The Sand Red, and the Gift-Giver. The Bloodwind Spoil will know we’re coming. They’ll beg to be the first to kneel to us. And then…’
Voleska gripped Kyryll’s shoulder and turned him to face one of the nearby peaks. Bloody snow clung to the highest point, well above the line where the spindly thorn trees thinned out to nothing. On one of the peaks, against the deep dark of the night, a sharp black outline was just visible.
It was a human of immense size, bulked out by plates of spiked armour and a massive tower shield. One hand held a halberd with a bundle of skulls strung around its point.
‘One of Archaon’s Chosen,’ said Voleska. ‘Saw them while we scouted. You were too dim to notice. They’re watching. Not just us, the Cabal, the Unmade, the Splintered Fang. Why do you think we’re here, Kyryll? To be the biggest dogs in the Bloodwind Spoil? Maybe that’s enough for you, but not me. They’re watching for warriors to take to the Varanspire. For Archaon’s army.’
The lone warrior didn’t move. The face was hidden behind a solid steel visor broken only by a black eyeslit.
‘You think they’re watching us now?’ asked Kyryll.
‘Me, maybe. You? Not so sure.’
Down the pass, in the direction of the distant Varanspire, the Corvus Cabal’s warbands held the upper slopes. They hadn’t set up bonfires and torches as the Spire Tyrants had. Their presence was betrayed by the trophies they strung up among the trees. Their Great Gatherer demanded trophies be taken from their dead. The Corvus Cabal cut a memento off every corpse they left in their wake, and hung up those orphaned ears and fingers everywhere they settled. The Cabal thought Bonebreak Pass and the Fangs were theirs, and they had been labouring under that misapprehension for far too long. With the dawn they would learn the truth.
And the watchers of battle would see them fail.
They swept down from the heights in a storm of bloody feathers, shrieking as they ran. Beneath the clouds of an impending storm, at the breaking of the lightning-touched dawn, the warbands of the Corvus Cabal made their charge.
Across the pass, the Splintered Fang and the Unmade had their own battle to fight, and perhaps the victor of that slaughter would survive in sufficient numbers to challenge for command of the pass. The winners’ blood could be shed another time. For now, the Spire Tyrants had the enemy ahead of them to fight.
Ferenk held his spear high. He had used it to kill his way to fame and glory in Carngrad, and then killed his owner with it when he led the breakout of pit fighters who had become the core of the Red Sand Raiders. ‘Life kept the prize from us,’ he yelled. ‘Now we take it!’
The Red Sand Raiders gathered in front of him cheered. They were men and women of every kind, small and fast, strong and brutal, cold-blooded killers and frenzied murderers. They were united by the old marks of combat on them, and the ugly functionality of their wargear. They carried the weapons with which they had learned to fight in the blood pits and amphitheatres. Hooked blades, nets and tridents, scythes, twinned daggers. They were united by the same fury that had seen them earn or steal their freedom from the pits.
