Everyone loves a prologue, don’t they? Sometimes, however, they get removed in the editing process. But fear not! Below you’ll find a multifunctional prologuette, which can be applied to either The Black Hawks or The Righteous as you see fit! How’s that for value?
Black waves slopped against the vessel’s flank, reflecting strange skies. Bursts of vivid colour filled the smoking night, making eerie silhouettes of the spires and arches of the foreign city on the shore. Beneath the cracks and blasts, a screaming reed chorus wavered out over the sea, setting the sailors’ teeth on edge. Their faith in their captain was long gone, but their desperate glances in his direction foundered each time on the figure looming at the prow, impassive, dark-draped and prickled with silver: Balise da Loran, the Clenched Fist of Primarch Lo Vassad.
Two sailors stood at the rail, looking out over the distant city, uncanny radiance mirrored in their eyes.
‘They called it a festival,’ the younger one said, a stringy woman with brands on both hands.
‘A feast for demons,’ the other replied, making the sign of the crook and spitting over the boat-side through great gaps in his teeth. ‘Shepherd’s mercy.’
Both cast an uneasy look over at the figure at the prow. Da Loran remained immobile, riding the swell of the anchored vessel, hooded gaze fixed on the savage shore. At once she moved, gestures like knife-blades, barking commands. The sailors ran to their stations. The shore-boats were returned.
Moments later, as the small vessels bumped against the ship-side, the first of the shore-party climbed aboard, followed by the hauling of the first of the great sacks they’d brought. The younger sailor watched as one sack after another came aboard, muttering prayers and flicking the sign of the crook with jittery hands.
The sacks were wriggling.
The Righteous is out on 10th June. Preorder now while there’s still time!