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  BLOOD SPORT

  by Josh Reynolds

  The screech echoed across the peaks of the Grey Mountains. It was a sound of raw, animal agony that set the crows to flight and the horses to pulling at their tethers. The echo of the screech faded and the cockatrice slumped, serpentine tail lashing, its unnatural ichors staining the harsh soil. A hoof stamped down, pulverising the dying beast’s skull and its writhing body abruptly went still.

  The hippogryph shook itself and snapped its beak angrily. It reared up on its hooves, flapping its wings as it clawed at the air with the talons on its forelimbs. It squalled at the cheering crowd and Felix Jaeger heard the raw hatred in the beast’s voice and shuddered. ‘Nasty beast,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ Gotrek Gurnisson grunted, his one good eye locked on the hippogryph.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘Aye,’ the dwarf said again. The Slayer’s tattooed frame trembled with what might have been eagerness and his pace, never very swift, had nonetheless become inexorable.

  ‘We don’t need the money that badly, Gotrek,’ Felix said, following the dwarf down through the rickety stands. The arena attached to the mountain trading post was made of convenient stones and hastily assembled planking and it groaned from the weight of the crowd. They were a mix of the worst from either side of the Gisoreux Gap, and there were accents from as far north as Kislev and as far south as Tobaro. The arena itself was simply a great crater of stone and wood with a thick woven net mounted over it.

  Gotrek turned and glared at Felix. ‘It’s not about the money, manling,’ he rasped. The haft of his axe creaked as his grip tightened. Felix stepped back.

  ‘Gotrek, this–’ he began. Gotrek turned and stamped away, his fiery crest of greased hair marking his path as effectively as a shark’s fin. His massive hands, elbows and shoulders cleared his way through the crowd.

  ‘Is perhaps not the wisest course,’ Felix finished lamely. He looked down at the betting slip in his hand and shrugged. If the Slayer was determined to pit himself against the beast, there was little the poet could do to stop him.

  They had been on their way to Bretonnia when the first stories of the so-called ‘King of the Gap’ had reached them. Beast-baiting, distasteful as it was, was quite common on both sides of the Gap and the longevity of the beast in question was measured in days, if not hours.

  The King of the Gap had survived for three years.

  The hippogryph squalled again and leapt into the air, striking the net that kept it trapped. It was a magnificent beast, despite the chaotic amalgamation of equine, avian and feline qualities. Old scars covered its once-glossy coat and the vibrant crimson plumage was dulled by age and grime. It dropped low and drove a massive shoulder into the heavy boards that separated it from the stands, snarling and squawking.

  Long hunting spears were jabbed through the boards, driving the beast back. It sank to the arena and galloped around the circumference, trumpeting a challenge. That cry was answered by the blast of a hunting horn as the wooden portcullis was raised and Gotrek stalked into the ring.

  Hippogryph and Slayer eyed each other for a moment. Gotrek raised his axe. The beast broke into a gallop. Gotrek dodged to the side, far quicker than his heavy frame would seem to allow, as the hippogryph’s claws gouged the stone. A wing snapped out, nearly bowling the dwarf over. Gotrek’s axe chopped down, shaving a tuft of hair from the monster’s tail. A hoof shot out, catching Gotrek on the shoulder and Felix winced as he heard an audible ‘pop’. The crowd bayed.

  Gotrek grabbed his dislocated shoulder and snapped it back into place with barely a glimmer of effort. The hard-faced guards who worked for the trading post began to look unhappy. The outcome wasn’t in doubt, but Felix wondered whether he and Gotrek would live to collect their winnings. The beast had made the owners of this trading post money for three years. They weren’t going to be happy when Gotrek butchered it. He loosened his sword in its sheath.

  The hippogryph shrieked and spun, lunging for the Slayer. Again Gotrek ducked, throwing himself between its legs. He popped up behind it, and Felix tensed. This was it.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  Gotrek grabbed a handful of the hippogryph’s hair and jerked himself up onto its back. It began to thrash and buck, screaming wildly. Gotrek clung tightly to it. The crowd didn’t seem to know what to make of it. Neither did Felix. His heart leapt into his throat when the hippogryph thrust itself into the air. Its wings beat like thunder as it rolled upwards. Gotrek held on with stoic determination.

  The creature smashed itself into the nets and began to squall. Gotrek, trapped between the beast and the net, struggled to free his axe. The betting slip crumpled in Felix’s hand and his mouth was dry. Gotrek’s axe sprang free… and sliced through the net.

  The crowd gave a collective moan as the hippogryph hurtled into the sky with a triumphant scream. Gotrek tumbled to the arena floor. Felix drew his sword and sliced through the boards separating it from the stands. He leapt down, rushing forwards as the Slayer struggled to his feet. The crowd was in chaos as the guards struggled to regain control, and a number of the latter were hurrying towards them, murder stamped on their faces. It looked like all bets were off.

  ‘Gotrek, what did you do?’ Felix said, as he and the dwarf faced the approaching guards.

  ‘We should all be free to seek our own doom, manling.’ Gotrek ran his thumb across his axe and squeezed a drop of blood from his thumb, flicking it at the approaching guards as he grinned wildly. ‘Now, let’s go help these fools with theirs, eh?’

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Josh Reynolds was formerly a roadie for the Hong Kong Cavaliers, but now writes full time. His work has appeared previously in anthologies such as Specters and Coal Dust, Historical Lovecraft and How The West Was Weird as well as in magazines such as Innsmouth Free Press and Hammer and Bolter. Feel free to stop by his blog (http://joshuamreynolds.blogspot.com/)

  A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

  Published in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK

  Cover design by Rachel Docherty

  © Games Workshop Limited 2012. All rights reserved.

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  ISBN 978-0-85787-655-3

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  Josh Reynolds, Blood Sport

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