Soul Drinkers 3 - Crimson Tears by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

81

Sarpedon, meanwhile, was headed for Gravenhold’s arena.

“You know we’re too late,” said Librarian Gresk as Sarpedon’s force moved through the dripping

half-natural caves beneath Gravenhold’s slums. “The Guard have it already. The arena would have

been the first location the Guard drove for. It’s the only firm foothold in the slums and they need a

point to anchor the line.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” replied Sarpedon. Squads Krydel, Salk and Praedon were advancing

behind him, guns ready, along with Apothecary Pallas. “But we’re not here to take it. We’re here to

take it back.”

“Movement,” came a vox from a sharp-eyed Marine in Squad Krydel. The force took cover

behind the folds of flowstone and the giant stalagmites, eyepieces glinting in the darkness. Sarpedon

held up a hand to indicate they should hold their fire. Even with his limited psychic reception he

could feel what was approaching.

The sorceress was carried on a litter by a dozen slave-cultists whose faces were masses of scars

and stitches. The bearers’s hands had been tied together so they melded into single large fleshy

claws suitable only for lifting the poles of the litter. The sorceress herself was a petite thing, with

skin the colour of hardwood and eyes so green they shone in the darkness. She was naked, but her

body was featureless, as if she was a facsimile of a human being, a women-shaped vessel into which

the spirit of something far more malevolent had been poured. Only her face seemed to have been

finished, high-browed and full-lipped. Her hair hung in faintly writhing dreadlocks and her fingers

ended in long golden claws.

The sorceress waved a hand and from the shadows slunk her cultists, not the mindless creatures

of Gravenhold but her own personal retinue. Like her bearers their facial features were sewn up with

such crudeness that their faces were just masses of bloodied twine and scar tissue, with malformed

eyes staring out of oozing gaps in the skin at insane angles. They wore close-fitting black bodysuits

studded with gems as green as their mistress’s eyes and they were armed with lasguns, standard-

issue. They had either once been renegade Guardsmen or the sorceress had the resources to equip

her private army properly.

Sarpedon could make out a couple of hundred cultists. She probably had more.

“The prince had told us to expect you,” said Sarpedon carefully. “High-mistress Saretha?”

Saretha’s mouth opened and a long organ slid out from deep within her throat, a sharp-pointed

scaly tongue like the tail of a rattlesnake. She let out a long, rattling hiss.

A slave scampered forward. This one had been permitted to unpick the stitches that had sealed

its mouth, leaving a wide drooling slit.

“Highmistress Saretha, Most Chosen Scion of the Lord of Unspeakable Pleasures, though her

name be unworthy in the mouths of slaves. You are here as appointed?”

“Yes, highmistress. I am Sarpedon of the Soul Drinkers.”

Another long, horrible rattle.

“The pleasurable dead speak of you, Lord Sarpedon. Through you the Lord of Pleasures gives

death to many.”

The sorceress was so corrupted she couldn’t even speak. Perhaps her mutated tongue was a

deliberate affectation, begged from her god so she could demonstrate her superiority by using a

slave to interpret for her.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.