A WARHAMMER NOVEL

BOOK TWO OF THE DAEMON GATES TRILOGY

NIGHT OF THE DAEMON

AARON ROSENBERG

this is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the world's ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.

At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl-Franz, sacred descendant of the founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.

But these are far from civilised times. Across the length and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north,

come rumblings of war. In the towering World's Edge Mountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods.

As the time of battle draws ever nearer, the Empire needs heroes like never before.

CHAPTER ONE

Clouds drifted across the night sky, obscuring stars and slivered Mannslieb. Their shadows fell across the town, rip­pling over its tall sturdy walls, momentarily dimming the torches set along the tops. Within, the sounds of revelry continued unabated.

Something moved in the shadows beyond the base of the wall. A tall figure stood in the darkness, staring up at the barrier. Dark cloth concealed features, even gender, although something about the figure's posture and motion suggested a man. Beneath a long hood his eyes glittered in the dim light as they studied the wall. He stripped off thick gloves and raised one long-fingered hand, fingers splayed, to rest his palm against the rough stone. The hand stopped just shy of contact, a shudder passing though him.

The man raised his hand for a second time, and the air around him thickened. Wisps of fog or smoke swirled around his fingers as he pushed, his entire body leaning into the motion. Again his hand stopped inches from the stone.

After .1 moment the man tried again. This time the dark­ness seemed to rise around him, shrouding him until he was little more than a sensation of motion, a hint of sub­stance. He did not move suddenly but advanced by inches, his raised hand closing the distance slowly but surely. Until, once again, it stopped. This time little more than a hairsbreadth separated flesh and stone. The air suddenly filled with a powerful stench, burning flesh and something far worse. For an instant the air was filled with hideous wailing torn from ravaged throats, but then the wind shifted and they were lost behind the music that issued from the town.

The man stood for a moment longer, unmoving, although his hand and arm shook with effort. Finally he pulled his hand back and stepped away, cradling it against his chest.

Very well,' he muttered, his deep voice almost a growl. 'Your defences hold, for now.' He glared at the tall, wide front gate, securely fastened for the night, as if his eyes could pierce the wood and see the people beyond. 'Enjoy yourselves while you can, degenerates,' he warned, although his words were swallowed by the night. 'Soon I will return, and when I do,' he said, his hands clenched into fists, 'your barriers will fall before me.'

Turning, he slipped away, his footfalls silent even in the still night air. Behind him a faint mark, a swatch darker than its surroundings, marred the wall where his hand had approached it. The grass nearby was blackened as well, as were patches further on, marking a trail as if scalding liquid had been poured out at regular intervals. By morning the marks would have faded, and no one would notice them.

'Halt! Who goes - wait, I know you!' The guard lowered his crossbow and peered at them, the weapon resting atop the heavy wooden barricade before him. The sounds of other soldiers marching around, patrolling the pass that disappeared into the mountains above, emerged behind him.

'Indeed you do,' Alaric replied. 'I am pleased to see our assistance has not been utterly forgotten so soon.' He preened slightly, adjusting the short sleeves of his soft leather jacket and the silk shirt-ties at his throat, brushing back a stray hair that had drifted across his handsome face. Then he shifted the weight of the rapier at his side, making his horse shuffle. If either of them felt the summer heat they didn't show it, but Dietz was sweating up a storm, his raw-boned face dripping moisture, his simple, serviceable leathers clinging to his long frame. Perhaps ignoring the heat was a noble thing. That might explain why the slender young man beside him was able to shrug it off so easily.

'You were here when the orcs attacked,' the soldier said, eyes widening as he remembered. 'You helped us fight them off.'

'That is correct,' Alaric agreed, nodding graciously. Dietz thought his friend and employer looked like a king receiv­ing accolades and managed to stifle the amused groan that rose in his throat. Glouste, less concerned with propriety, chittered what might have been a rebuke from her perch upon his shoulder, although whether aimed at Alaric or himself, Dietz could not tell. He scratched the wiry, long- tailed tree-fox behind her small rounded ears to calm her and his pet's complaints changed to burbles of delight. Interrupting Alaric when he was so clearly enjoying himself might put the younger man in a foul mood.

Nonetheless, they were on a schedule, and couldn't waste much more time impressing some poor soldier.

'Time,' Dietz murmured, edging his horse close to Alaric's so only his young employer would hear him. He saw Alaric glance at him, frown slightly, and nod.

'Yes, well, we are in a hurry,' Alaric said, never turning from the guard. "We need to use the pass.'

'Use it?' That had the guard confused again, although Dietz wasn't sure he blamed the man. The Black Fire Pass was one of the only routes through the Black Mountains and into - or out of - the Empire. It was always heavily guarded, and this time they weren't working for one of the

elector counts, or really for anyone. This time they were on their own, not that Alaric planned to let that stop them.

Yes yes, we need to reach the Border Princes,' he said testily. He raised his chin, blue eyes flashing, blond hair streaming behind him, for that instant every inch the impe­rious noble. 'Now, either let us pass or take us to Captain Verten or Commander Haas.'

The guard straightened at the mention of his superiors. He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see the two officers there. Then he chuckled at himself, nodded, and said something to someone below. A moment later two sol­diers moved the barricade door aside.

'The captain is down in Grenzstadt with Sergeant Druber, getting supplies,' one of the men admitted, evidently hav­ing overheard their conversation, 'but Commander Haas is probably in his tent or near enough to make no difference in finding him. You know the way?' Dietz knew the man was debating whether to leave his post to accompany them or let them wander the pass unescorted. The three guards were alone at the barricade, but they were enough to secure it against anything but a major assault. Two might be hard- pressed to defend it and that was probably the guard's concern.

"We know it,' he assured the guard. 'We'll go straight to Haas.'

'Good.' The guard nodded, pushed the stout iron-banded door back into place, and then paused. He glanced up at them, his eyes wide. There isn't another ore warband com­ing, is there?'

'Not that we know of,' Alaric reassured him. 'We're sim­ply passing through.'

Suiting the action to the word, he spurred his horse on, and he and Dietz rode up the trail and into the pass.

'What are you two doing here?' Haas asked when Alaric and Dietz reined in. The stocky army commander had obviously just returned from a patrol and rock dust clung to his face and hands, although his uniform was no dirtier

than usual. Dietz was pleased to see his friend Adelrich beside Haas, and exchanged friendly nods with the scout. The ride to the array camp had taken two hours, but fortu­nately Dietz had remembered the route. He didn't relish the idea of wandering aimlessly through the narrow trails that branched off the main pass, hoping to avoid any stray orcs that might still lurk in the mountains. The camp looked much as he remembered it, an orderly array of tents set in rows in a large clearing, the larger command tent at the centre. There were men everywhere, sharpening weapons, drilling with blades, eating, sleeping, mending uniforms and marching on patrol.

'Sorry to trouble you, commander,' Alaric said smoothly, bowing from his saddle with the grace of the nobleman he was. 'We are simply passing through and felt it courteous to inform you of our presence.'

'Passing through? Where are you going?' Haas's eyes nar­rowed. 'What does Todbringer have you doing now?'

'Well, actually,' Alaric coughed nervously, 'we are not here on the elector count's orders.'

'No?' Haas studied him for a moment, and then turned his gaze on Dietz. 'Who did send you, then?'

'No one,' Dietz answered honestly. He didn't see any rea­son to tell Haas about the map, or about their reasons for investigating it.

'Are you bringing trouble to my door again?' Haas demanded.

'I'll have you know we were here to remove-' Alaric began, but Dietz cut him off.

'No trouble,' he assured the commander. 'We're just on our way to the Border Princes.'

Haas locked gazes with him for a moment, and then nodded. 'Fine, just so long as you're not leading another orc warband towards us.' The faint upward curve to his mouth indicated that he might in fact be joking, although Dietz decided not to chance it. You never knew with officers when they were joking and when they were deadly serious.

■We didn't lead that warband here,' Alaric objected. 'If anything, we-' Again Dietz cut him off.

'Can we stay the night?' he asked. 'We'll be gone in the morning.'

Haas hesitated for only a second before nodding. 'Fine, you can take that tent over there, its owners won't be need­ing it again.' He turned on his heel and walked away, although Dietz knew better than to take offence. The com­mander was probably preoccupied as usual with the all-important job of defending the pass and the Empire.

Dietz dismounted and let out a soft groan of relief as he stretched to his full height. Damn and blast, it felt good to be out of the saddle! He didn't mind riding, but after the past few months he'd be happy never to see a horse again, much less climb into another saddle.

Adelrich was at Dietz's side, grinning, by the time his feet had settled on the ground. They clasped hands, the wiry lit­tle scout and the tall, raw-boned traveller, both relieved to see the other still alive. Of all the men who'd accompanied Alaric and Dietz during their months-long quest, to find and destroy the Chaos statues scattered across the Empire, Dietz had identified with Adelrich most strongly, and the two had become fast friends.

'No drinks, I'm afraid,' Adelrich said sadly, 'not until Druber returns with supplies.' The two men had agreed to share a drink the next time they met and the scout was clearly dis­appointed that the army sergeant's poor timing would delay that.

It was Dietz's turn to grin as he reached back up to his saddle and untied a wineskin hanging there. 'Fortunately I brought my own,' he said, passing it to Adelrich, who took a long draught and sighed appreciatively.

'Ulric's beard, I needed that!' he said, returning the wine­skin so Dietz could drink as well. 'Now, tell me how you've fared since we p...