Warhammer - Ancient Blood by Robert Earl

Author:Robert Earl [Earl, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic, Fantasy, General, Fiction, Action & Adventure, Vampires, Occult & Supernatural
ISBN: 9781844165377
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2008-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

“Domnu Rortchak,” Domnu Brock said, getting up from his seat to grip the man’s hand and pull him up into his wagon, “I am honoured that you have come.”

Rortchak, a small, round, red-faced man, nodded politely. He swept off his hat and turned to close the wagon door behind him, on the rest of Flintmar, and, particularly, on the line of other domnus, who had been waiting outside Domnu Brock’s wagon with him.

“How could I have refused an invitation from Domnu Brock?” he asked, “especially when everybody is speaking of the need for a Kazarkhan.”

Brock smiled and waved Rortchak to a seat.

“There’s no doubt that we do need one,” he said. “Will you take a bowl of wine?”

“Delighted to,” Rortchak said, and sat down. For the first time, he noticed Petru Engel. The old man sat wrapped in his black robes, silent and unmoving in his shadowy corner.

“Petru,” Rortchak said, raising his bowl in a toast to the old man before he drank.

Engel just nodded.

“It was about the Kazarkhan that I invited you over,” Brock said. “The thing is, quite a few of the other domnus have suggested that I take the job. It’s no secret that I wasted my youth fighting other men’s wars for them. Might be time to put all that experience to good use, but I was just wondering what you thought?”

Rortchak grinned widely.

“I think that it’s a good idea,” he said, nodding. “In fact, I think that it’s such a good idea that you don’t even need to get your raven here to convince me.”

He looked across at Petru Engel and winked. The petru’s poker face creased into a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“How do you know I haven’t already?” he asked. Rortchak just shook his head.

“I’ve been married to our own petru for long enough to know when craft is being used,” he said, “and anyway, old Domnu Matchelek convinced me before he invited me over. Everybody respects you, Brock, and we all know that you know how to fight a war as well as a skirmish. Now, do you want me to get Domnu Chavek and Spurn to come over and have a chat too? They’re reasonable men.”

Brock smiled and nodded his thanks.

“I’d be honoured if you would, Rortchak, and I won’t forget it.”

“Don’t worry,” the fat man said, draining the last of his wine, and getting to his feet. “If you do forget, I’ll remind you.”

And, with a wink, he climbed back out of the wagon.

One of the domnu’s men helped him on his way, and then put his head through the door.

“It’s Domnu Greisar to see you next, domnu,” he said.

“Send him in,” Brock said, and went to help the man into his wagon. He would be the twenty-seventh that day, and they still had a good five hours left before the council.

“Domnu Greisar,” he repeated for the twenty-seventh time, “I am honoured that you have come.”

“I don’t mind coming,” Greisar said. He was a thin-lipped man, immaculately dressed in embroidered cloth, and

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