Warrior Priest (Warhammer Fantasy) by Darius Hinks

Author:Darius Hinks [Hinks, Darius]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2011-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

BLOOD TIES

‘Fabian,’ called a thin, musical voice. ‘Come and say hello to your brother.’

Fabian stared morosely through a wide bay window onto the secluded valley outside. He was only fourteen, but already felt as though life had betrayed him. He pressed his face to the warm, leaded glass and as he looked out at the sunlit idyll of his parents’ estate, he wept. A glorious jumble of orchards and wildflower meadows lay sleepily across the hillside, surrounding the long drive that led down to the gatehouse, where the servants were unloading his father’s coach. He lolled back into a mountain of damask cushions and wiped away hot, angry tears. ‘I’m busy,’ he replied, picking up a book of folk tales that lay forgotten on the table next to him.

An azure cloud of embroidered silk bustled into the drawing room. ‘Fabian,’ scolded his mother, frowning at him through her pince nez. ‘Don’t pout. We haven’t seen Jakob for months. Brother Braun said in his letter that he’s done exceptionally well in his studies.’

‘Really,’ replied Fabian, nonchalantly turning a page and refusing to look up from the book. ‘You do surprise me.’

‘Fabian…’ repeated his mother in a stern voice, gesturing to the open door.

‘Very well,’ he replied, accepting defeat and snapping the book shut. ‘Although I really don’t see why everything must stop at merest mention of the word “Jakob”.’

He followed his mother out through the carpeted reception rooms and into the garden. The verges and borders were ablaze with colour and he immediately felt his nose tingle at the scent of the honeysuckle that trailed over the house’s pink-grey stone. He held a handkerchief to his face, in the hope it would give him some protection.

The façade of Berlau house was covered with dozens of tall windows, and as the new arrivals approached, they had to shield their eyes against the inferno of light reflected in the glass.

‘Jakob,’ cried his mother, unable to contain her excitement at seeing her firstborn. She dashed across the small courtyard and threw her arms around the youth, smothering him with kisses. ‘I swear you look even taller,’ she exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

‘Margarethe,’ said the elegant, elderly gentleman next to Jakob. ‘Really – you’ll suffocate the poor boy.’ Even dressed in his mud-splattered travelling clothes, Fabian’s father looked every inch the nobleman. The nostrils of his long, aquiline nose flared at such a gaudy display of emotion and he ground his heel angrily into the cobbles. Despite his annoyance, though, he could not hide the proud gleam in his eye as he placed a hand on Jakob’s shoulder. ‘Let him change, at least, before you drown him in syrup.’

Margarethe stepped back, and allowed the boy to head inside. ‘You are cruel to me, Hieronymus,’ she said, giving her husband a coy smile. Then, she nodded to the old priest waiting patiently next to her husband. ‘Brother Braun,’ she trilled. ‘It’s good to see you.’

The man nodded his tonsured head. ‘Frau Wolff,’ he said, kissing the fingers she dangled before him.

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