Gothgul Hollow (Warhammer Horror) by Anna Stephens

Author:Anna Stephens [Stephens, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2022-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Gothghul Castle, twenty-six years ago

‘Heph­zibah? Zib?’

Heph­zibah’s head jerked up, hair tumbling to fall over one eye. ‘Stay where you are!’

Aaric halted, knee-deep in heather, and Heph­zibah spun and then released the magic out into the moor in the opposite direction. It blasted out of her, a purple-edged flare that limned every leaf and twig and branch and blade of grass. In its aftermath, the shrubbery sparkled – and then grew. Taller, faster, gorse spines getting longer, sharper, curling wickedly towards the Gothghuls. Reaching for them.

‘Back up,’ she called, feeling backwards across the springy ground with her boots. The shrubs were shoulder height already.

‘Zib?’

‘Should be fine, my love. Just another few seconds.’ She projected confidence into her voice, but the spellcraft cut in her arm was throbbing, as were her temples. Aaric’s interruption had broken her focus at the last second and the spell had sucked out more energy than she’d been prepared to give, powering the magic into something far larger than she’d planned for.

And yet, as predicted – as hoped – the growth slowed and then, eventually, stopped. Gorse, heather and grass stood higher than their heads, the usual pale amethyst darkened to violet and indigo and edged in black. Something chittered within.

‘Oh,’ she murmured, and drew the rapier at her hip.

‘Zibby,’ Aaric said plaintively as he unslung his rifle. She could hear the long-suffering pout in his voice.

‘Shouldn’t have disturbed me then,’ she replied tartly, not taking her eyes off the monstrous tangle of vegetation. She heard him cock the rifle and a warm rush of love swept through her. That one use of her name was his only complaint, and then – as always – he was there at her side, standing ready to face down whatever was coming for them.

Heph­zibah couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her mouth. ‘We might be lucky,’ she murmured as the overgrown shrubs began suddenly, visibly, to wither. The chittering got louder, more frantic, and the thick stand of grass shivered. A gorse-rat, charcoal-furred and thigh-high to Heph­zibah, ran at them with a hungry squeal, its bald grey tail lashing and yellow incisors dripping foam. ‘Or not.’

Heph­zibah lunged and thrust at the same time that Aaric’s rifle kicked. Bullet and blade went into the oversized creature and it squealed again, thrashing. As it stilled, its flesh began to fall in on itself as muscle wasted. Its fur paled and thinned, and a tooth fell from its gaping mouth. Film covered its eyes, and behind it, the giant shrubs continued to age and shed and die and rot – all in the space of a few minutes.

They waited until there was nothing but a rotten slurry of slime and bone before putting away their weapons.

‘Well,’ Aaric said, his tone equal parts exasperation and amusement, ‘do I even want to know what you were trying to do?’

‘Speed up plant growth,’ she said absently, already scribbling notes in her journal.

‘Congratulations. You definitely did that.’

She gave her husband a narrow-eyed stare. He was laughing at her.

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