The Armour of Contempt (Gaunt’s Ghosts Book 10) by Dan Abnett

Author:Dan Abnett [Abnett, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2011-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

HUNTERS

I

‘What’s this one called?’ Zweil asked.

‘Syerte,’ Eszrah replied. The old ayatani sniffed, nodded and wrote the word down on his flap of parchment.

‘And this one? This one here?’

Eszrah cocked his head and stared. Then he frowned and shrugged.

‘Is that a “no” or a “not sure”?’ Zweil asked.

Eszrah shrugged again.

‘Well, far be it for me to condemn an entire genus of plant to eternal damnation,’ said Zweil, ‘so I’ll play safe for now and describe it under “others”.’

Eszrah didn’t seem particularly bothered either way. Zweil scratched down a brief description of the dull, unimpressive plant in question, and then moved further along the overgrown ditch.

Tona Criid jogged up the curve of the parched field to join them. Cantible, still exhaling smoke into the glassy sky, lurked on the neighbouring hill. There was a general bustle of activity coming from the town: a distant clatter of armour, the hum of Valkyrie engines, a very occasional gunshot.

Noa Vadim, the Ghost assigned to watch the ayatani out in the open, saluted as she approached. She looked down at the priest in the tangled field trench, the Nihtgane standing over him at the edge of the field, watching him diligently.

‘What’s he doing?’ she asked.

‘Don’t ask,’ replied Vadim. He yawned expansively.

‘Tired?’ she asked. He shrugged. ‘You should have taken the rest while you could,’ she said. Some of the regiment had been given a few hours’ sleep overnight.

‘I slept all right,’ Vadim replied. ‘Thought I wouldn’t, bedding down in a place like that…’ Vadim shot a sour look in the direction of Cantible. ‘But, no. I slept all right. It was just the dreams.’

Criid nodded. ‘The dreams’ll get you here, every time. Keep saying your prayers. So… what is he doing?’

‘I’m not entirely sure. When I asked, he said something about a “systematic benediction”, and left it at that.’

‘I’ve come to get Eszrah.’

Vadim shrugged again. ‘You’ll have to take it up with him,’ he said.

Criid slid down the dusty bank into the weed-choked ditch. It was part of the old field system, an agricultural divider, but the neglect and abuse Gereon’s most recent masters had imposed upon the land had allowed it to run wild, and then wither. She picked her way over to where the priest was bending.

‘This one?’ Zweil called.

‘Syerte,’ replied Eszrah from the bank.

‘Ah, yes. That’s come up before, hasn’t it. And here, this one, this one down here, this ugly fellow?’

‘Unkynde,’ the nightwalker said.

‘You sure now?’ Zweil asked.

‘Unkynde.’

‘Unkynde… khhaous?’

Eszrah nodded. Zweil scratched down a few words on his long flap of parchment, and then stopped to pull up the offending plant vigorously and toss the scraps up onto the edge of the dead field. The recently pulled remains of other plants already littered the field rim.

‘Father,’ said Criid. ‘Your errand here seems rather botanical.’

‘This world’s been a long time without the ministry of the Throne,’ Zweil said. ‘It needs a damn good blessing, every last soul and beetle and pebble and wildflower. The tall fellow is acquainting me with the local flora, so that I can be quite specific in my prayers.

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