The birth of Barghast gods rang like a hammer on the anvil of the pantheon. Primordial in their aspect, these ascended spirits emerged from the Hold of the Beast, that most ancient of realms from the long-lost Elder Deck. Possessors of secrets and mysteries born in the bestial shadow of humanity, theirs was a power wreathed in antiquity.

Indeed, the other gods must have felt the tremor of their rising, rearing their heads in alarm and consternation. One of their own, after all, had just been abandoned in the mortal realm, whilst a First Hero assumed the warrior mantle in his place. More, the Fallen One had returned to the game in dire malice, corrupting the warrens to announce his deadly desire for vengeance and, it must be said in clear-eyed retrospect, domination.

Burn’s sleep was fevered. Human civilization floundered in countless lands, drowning in the mire of spilled blood. These were dark times, and it was a darkness that seemed made for the dawn of the Barghast gods . . .

In the Wake of Dreams

Imrygyn Tallobant the Younger

The wizard’s eyes opened.

To see, squatting atop a backpack directly in front of him, a small figure of wrapped sticks and knotted twine, its head an acorn, that now cocked slightly to one side.

‘Awake. Yes. A mind once more sound.’

Quick Ben grimaced. ‘Talamandas. For a moment there, I thought I was reliving a particularly unpleasant nightmare.’

‘By your ravings these past few days and nights, Ben Adaephon Delat, you’ve lived through more than a few unpleasant nightmares, yes?’

Light rain was pattering on the tent’s sloped walls. The wizard pushed the furs from his body and slowly sat up. He found he was wearing little more than his thin wool undergarments: leather armour and quilted tunic had been removed. He was sweat-chilled, the grubby, coarse wool damp. ‘Ravings?’

The sticksnare’s laugh was soft. ‘Oh yes. And I listened, I listened indeed. So, you know the cause of the illness besetting the Sleeping Goddess. You would set yourself in the Crippled God’s path, match his wits if not his power, and defeat all he seeks. Mortal, yours is a surpassing conceit ... which I cannot but applaud.’

Quick Ben sighed, scanning the tumbled contents of the tent. ‘Mockingly, no doubt. Where are the rest of my clothes?’

‘I do not mock you, Wizard. Indeed, I am humbled by the depth of your ... integrity. To find such, in a common soldier, one serving a malevolent, spiteful Empress who sits on a blood-stained throne, ruling an empire of murderers—’

‘Now hold on, you misbegotten puppet—’

Talamandas laughed. ‘Oh, but it has always been so, has it not? Within the rotting corpse hide diamonds! Pure of heart and stalwart with honour, yet besieged within their own house by the foulest of masters. And when the historians are done, the ink drying, may the house shine and sparkle even as it burns!’

‘You’ve lost me, runt,’ Quick Ben muttered. ‘How long have I been ... out?’