Warhammer - Badenov's Band 01 by The Dead (and) the Damned (Jonathan Green)

Author:The Dead (and) the Damned (Jonathan Green) [Damned, The Dead the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Torben was the first to burst through the unlocked door into the windmill. “Anybody here?” he called out, half-expecting the startled face of the miller to greet him. There was no reply. There wasn’t a sound. The mill was dark and empty. It stank of mildew. “No? Good.”

Puffing and panting, the other mercenaries staggered into the mill. The run through the night, fuelled by fear and adrenalin, had taken its toll. A lantern was found, lit, and hung from a beam in the centre of the room.

Alexi sat down heavily on a bulging sack of corn. “I’m exhausted,” he managed to say between gasps.

“You can’t sit down yet,” Torben said, closing the door and barring it. “Now that we’re here, we’ve got to make sure that nothing else can follow us in. Something tells me those things out there aren’t going to give up too easily.”

“Did any of you see where they came from?” Yuri asked, a shocked expression on his face after witnessing one horror after another that night.

“It was dark,” Oran pointed out, “and I was busy at the time, fighting a monster from children’s nightmares!”

“It was like they came out of the night itself, I mean out of thin air, right in front of us,” Yuri continued, as if he hadn’t heard a word Oran had uttered.

The chamber they were in was effectively one storey of the mill. A thick wooden shaft emerged from a hole in the floor above and was connected to large cogs and other pieces of mill machinery, culminating in the grindstone at the centre of the room. On the other side of the building, a heavy-looking trapdoor covered the entrance to a cellar. Various pieces of furniture stood around the chamber, including a rough wooden pallet draped with a blanket. More curiously, a great mass of books and scrolls was strewn about amongst the mill workings. Someone had been living here recently and it didn’t look like it had been the miller.

Torben grabbed the end of a table covered in books and papers. As he dragged it in front of the doorway, with Stanislav’s assistance, several scrolls and tomes fell open onto the floor. The rest of the party began making the windmill siege-proof, but Pieter was more interested in the clutter covering the table.

“Look at all this,” he said gesturing at the piles of papers.

“What about it?” Oran said, gruffly.

“Well it’s hardly the sort of thing you’d expect to find in a mill is it?” He picked up a slim black volume and studied the gilt-embossed words on the spine. “How many millers do you know who read Braustein’s Ancient Tribes of the Ostermark Region, or, Lempter’s Necrotic Diseases of the Body? Most of them can’t even write their own name, let alone read La Lune d’Enfer in the original Bretonnian.”

He exchanged the book in his hands for a battered bundle of pages held together with knotted string. The others listened to his almost unhealthily excited ranting, as they barricaded themselves into the tower.

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