PAWNS of CHAOS a Warhammer 40,000 Novel by Brian Craig

PAWNS of CHAOS A Warhammer 40,000 Novel by Brian Craig GAVALON HAD ALREADY begun thinking of the bulk of his forces as ‘gunfodder’, even though they had never faced guns before. The guns produced by the Imperium in their plane- tary-based factories were by no means as powerful as those they had brought from the star- worlds, but they were guns nevertheless and there was nothing in Gulzacandra that could compete with them – except, of course, magic. If the Imperium was to be stopped, magic would be the force that would do it. IN THE GRIM future of Warhammer 40,000, mankind is engaged in an eternal conflict with the armies of Chaos. On the medieval world of Sigmatus, the hated Imperium is flexing its power with ruthless efficiency. The rebels have a plan to fight back: summon a powerful daemon from the warp and unleash it upon their enemies! Pawns of Chaos can be purchased from Games Workshop stores and Mail Order, direct from our website, and all good book stores. Price £5.99 (UK), $6.95 (US) In the UK: Distributed by Games Workshop Ltd. Phone our direct mail order lines on 0115 91 40 000 In the US: Distributed to game stores by Games Workshop. Phone our direct mail order lines on 1-800-394-GAME. Distributed to book stores by Simon and Schuster Pocket Books. See the Black Library on the internet at www.blacklibrary.co.uk, or visit the Games Workshop website at www.games-workshop.com PUBLISHED BY THE BLACK LIBRARY Willow Road, Lenton, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK Copyright © 2001 Games Workshop Ltd. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited, in any form, including on the internet. UK ISBN: 1 84154 141 9 US ISBN: 0 7434 1164 1 R This is an excerpt from Pawns of Chaos by Brian Craig, published by Games Workshop Publishing, 2001. Copyright © Games Workshop Ltd 2001. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited, in any form, including on the internet. For more details email [email protected] or go to the Black Library website http://www.blacklibrary.co.uk M TWO EVEN THOUGH GAVALON’S makeshift army had barely begun to come together, let alone seen any action, the noise and the stink of the encampment were becoming unbearable. There were too many beastmen in it, and too many men who were almost as careless in their hygiene. Had the profession of sorcery been kinder to its followers, a man like Gavalon would have been immune to all offensive odours, and if it had been kinder still the reek of beastmen might have seemed a delicate perfume, but the world was not a kind place, even to the most faithful servant of the truest god. In the end, Gavalon had to step out of his tent in search of fresher air, but he did not find it. In order to take his mind off the noisome quality of the air, Gavalon looked up – with a great deal of pride and a little trep- idation – at the banner fluttering above his multicoloured tent, which stood out bright and clear even against the cloudless violet sky. The image painted upon it was that of a huge eye rimmed in red, with a thin purple iris surrounding a huge black pupil. A cataract of white fire jetted from the centre of the pupil, extending into a beam as wide as the banner’s hem. The fluttering device was not magically active at present, but it was menacing even as a mere image. The eye on the banner was the all-seeing eye, the withering eye, whose gaze could blast minds and scorch them clean of any vestige of rational thought when the banner came to life. The banner that bore such an eye was more than a weapon: it was the potent symbol of Gavalon’s power and authority. It was Pawns of Chaos 3 the badge of the most powerful sorcerer in Gulzacandra, which meant the most powerful in all the world nowadays. Gavalon was known to everyone who knew his name as Gavalon the Great, although his enemies had applied less flat- tering epithets to him in the days before their extermination. Five lifetimes ago, if the intelligence of lore and legend could be trusted, the most powerful sorcerer in Gulzacandra would have been the smallest digit on a hand of five fingers, each fin- ger symbolizing one of the five civilizations which shared the world’s three continents. But four lifetimes ago the stars had slowed their ceaseless movement in the night-sky and the Imperium had fallen from the sky in a shower of slow meteors. Within ten years, Gavalon had been told, the Imperium had taken absolute control of Kalazendra, and within a further twenty-five years three other civilizations – Zendamora, Bulzavara and Yevelkana – had become mere puppets, slaves to imported law. Only Zendamora had been joined to Kalazendra but the seas that divided the world had not been barrier enough to protect Bulzavara and Yevelkana, or the island of Melmayaka that lay half-way between the westernmost cape of Kalazendra and the easternmost extremity of Gulzacandra. Only the girth of the world, and the wastelands and high mountains that divided the landmass shared by Yevelkana and Gulzacandra, had kept Gavalon’s homeland safe from inva- sion… until now. Now, the time had finally come. Yevelkanan mercenaries were pouring through the coastal lands in the far west and Zendamoran warfleets supplied from Melmayaka were blockading the eastern ports, while what remained of the once all-powerful Imperial forces were striking westwards across the wastelands to drive deep into the heart of Gulzacandra. The strategy was sound enough. For centuries before the Imperium came, if not millennia, the men of Gulzacandra had organised their defences to withstand the raids of Melmayakan pirates and Yevelkanan adventurers. The heart- land, buffered by the wastelands, had never needed significant fortification. Caravans of camules could cross the wastes, and men on hardy horses could carry water enough to get them across provided they carried little else, but no ordinary army weighed down by its equipment could hope to arrive in any condition to fight. Only the Imperial army itself could do that, 4 Brian Craig and for two hundred years the Imperium had had more important things to do. Now, with the exception of a handful of islands inhabited by savages, Gulzacandra was the last territory to resist Imperial law: the last territory where the true faith was openly and glad- ly professed, and its customs publicly followed. There were sorcerers still in Yevelkana, Zendamora and Bulzavara – and more than a few even in Kalazendra – but they had perforce to oper- ate in the strictest secrecy. Not one of them could ever achieve the kind of pre-eminence over his fellows that entitled Gavalon the Great to the tribute of his surname. Banners and standards fluttered over a dozen other tents pitched on the so-called headland, but they all displayed open hands rather than eyes. Some of the hands carried flaming skulls, while others bore serpentine symbols, but Gavalon had reserved the withering eye for himself. His thrall-wizards and his beastmen wore various versions of it, to mark them out as officers of his personal retinue, although his lesser servants made do with the same annular insignia as any other gunfodder. Gavalon had already begun thinking of the bulk of his forces as ‘gun-fodder’, even though they had never faced guns before. The incredibly powerful weapons that the Imperial forces had brought with them to their epoch-making landing were rumoured to be almost out of ammunition now, but their own- ers had made the most of their temporary advantage. The guns produced in their Kalazendran factories were by no means as powerful as those their forebears had brought from the star- worlds, but they were guns nevertheless. There was nothing in Gulzacandra that could compete with them – except, of course, magic. If the Imperium was to be stopped, magic would be the force that would do it. Gavalon had every respect for and every faith in magic – how could it be otherwise, given that he was the greatest sorcerer in Gulzacandra? – but he also had every respect for his- tory, and he knew that magic had not saved the sorcerers of Kalazendra from Imperial firepower, and that magic had not prevented the series of treasons that had brought Zendamora, Bulzavara and Yevelkana into the Imperial fold one by one. For whatever reason, the god who had once been the god of Pawns of Chaos 5 all five great nations had decided, after his impenetrably mys- terious fashion, to let his children suffer defeat after defeat after defeat, even though the stars had begun to swim in the night-sky like so many multicoloured fish almost as soon as the Imperial ships had landed. No more ships had come to reinforce the first wave of immigrants – and if the god of Gulzacandra chose to be merciful, no more ships would ever come – but those which had come had done damage aplen- ty. Only now was the tide to turn, if it were to turn at all – but if and when it turned, it would surely turn with all the savage fury of which the vengeful god of Gulzacandra was capable. Perhaps, Gavalon thought, that was the way his lord pre- ferred to play out the game – for what was life to the gods, and everything else in the universe besides, but a game? The world’s misfortune might, if seen in the right light, be nothing but a stage for his own glory.

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