Zenst’s Decree of Ordinances

Jedd opened his eyes blearily, then screwed them tight against the dawn light.

‘Where’s the ’cursed curt’ns?’ he mumbled to himself, then groaned as he remembered he’d taken them down. According to the Zenst Decree, blocking out the light of the Heavens with cloth drapery was akin to wrapping yourself in a shroud. It was a sure way to attract the unquiet dead. Jedd had no desire to ignore the wisdom of a famed witch hunter, so down the curtains had come.

He supposed that Heirom Zenst had a point; Sigmar’s light had woken Jedd at the appointed hour to be about his watch. He should really be thankful.

That said, Zenst’s Decree guaranteed to keep a man safe from the dead only if its every commandment was followed to the letter, and it had a great many of those. Jedd fumbled on his nightstand for his parchment copy. Sitting up, he blinked owlishly as he read again its stringent guidelines.

‘Sigmar, ward away ghasts,’ said Jedd. ‘Sigmar, drive off ghouls. Sigmar, preserve my soul and shield my body ’gainst the dead.’ He repeated the formula six times, then dipped his fingers in the flagon of water next to his bed and flicked droplets around himself, at each of the twelve stellar alignments.

Jedd hauled himself out of bed and got ready, all the while taking pains to follow Zenst’s commandments. He hung twelve weighty talismans about his neck, having to stop and remove them then start again when he realised he had donned the Hammer of Righteous Heart before the Eye of Soul’s Warding. He put on his clothes right-side first, right sock, right boot, right glove, all the while muttering the prayer against the sinister sins. He looked wistfully at the salted meat sitting untouched in his larder, instead making a breakfast of tubers, roots and shriveled fruit.

‘Hardly a meal to keep m’strength up,’ he muttered. The eating of dead flesh was forbidden by the Decree, for it invited grave thoughts, but Jedd hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to throw his hard-won store away.

He donned his Freeguild armour, each element of which he laboriously rubbed with blessed wax, bought at extortionate cost from the village alchemancer. The substance was slippery and irritating, and Jedd found it made his sword harder to grip – but again, only a fool would ignore Zenst’s warnings. His grumbling continued as he fished blessed parchments out of the lockbox he stored them in, and spent long minutes affixing them to his gear.

‘Wish I’d got m’letters,’ huffed Jedd, unable to decipher the illuminated scrawl that covered the parchments. He just had to trust that the scrolls said what the local priest had told him they did, and were worth the coin he had forked over for the privilege of wearing them.

At last, he hastened out of his house. As he locked the door – remembering to knock thrice on the jamb – Jedd noted that his wreath of hagsblight was wilting.

‘Bloody sun,’ he grumbled. ‘S’pose I’ll have to go a’foraging for more now.’ It was not a heartening notion, for the jungle around the village was grot-haunted and dangerous. Still, better to risk the greenskins than let a ghast creep into his home.

Jedd hurried through the streets, keeping his eyes forward and his face stern. Zenst warned against needless fraternisation, in case ghast-possession or spiritual gloom be spread. Jedd felt this was a shame, for his neighbours were good people, and since the Decree the village had become colder, more suspicious and unfriendly. But then, who wanted to risk possession?

‘You’re late. Again,’ said Dunsley as Jedd hurried up the steps onto the rampart.

‘Came as quick as I could,’ said Jedd. ‘Decree, in’t it? Takes time.’

Dunsley scowled.

‘Make the bloody time, Jedd. I’ve got a wife and babe. With all these signs and omens, the dead stirring behind the veil… We all got people we need to protect.’

Jedd sighed and nodded, thinking that his efficacy as a watchman would hardly be improved by even less sleep.

‘Sorry, lad,’ he said. ‘You get back to ’em now. Blessings to Rosa from me.’

Dunsley grunted, somewhat mollified. He looked exhausted, Jedd thought. Everyone did.

‘Wish we didn’t have to go through all this,’ said Jedd, as Dunsley descended the stairs. ‘Makes everything harder.’

‘Careful with that talk, Jedd,’ Dunsley called back over his shoulder. ‘Old Bones’ll hear.’

Jedd shuddered, suddenly cold despite the morning sun.

He set off along the wall, patrolling widdershins as per the Decree. The jungle spread away beneath a cobalt-blue sky, teyr-hawks winging high above the canopy as the sun beat down. Animal cries echoed from the deeper reaches, while the treeline – which pressed up to within fifty yards of the walls in places – squirmed with animal and insect movements.

It was an hour into Jedd’s shift when one of those movements caught his tired eye. Blinking, he leaned a little way over the rampart, muttering a curse as the charms he wore spilled out of his tunic and dangled heavily over the edge.

Jedd gasped as he saw beady red eyes staring back at him, then heard the twang of a bowstring. Too late, Jedd tried to push himself back into cover, but his wax-rubbed gauntlet slipped on the stonework and the arrow thumped through his throat. He convulsed, then toppled over the battlements.

Pain exploded through Jedd as he heard the crunch of his bones breaking. His blood pumped from his throat. He couldn’t breathe. The last thing Jedd saw was a pair of grots slinking towards him, eyes fixed upon the charms tangled about his neck. They grabbed his body and began to haul, dragging him away towards the jungle fringe…

Later that day, the village priest stopped before Jedd’s door. He shook his head at the sorry wreath of hagsblight hanging there, then pressed a parchment against the frame and hammered it into place with a nail. As the priest walked away, the parchment fluttered in a cold breeze, its warning clear to all.

Here dwelt one who was heard to speak ill of the Decree by his comrade upon the walls.

Old Bones took him for his sins, vanished from the ramparts without trace.

’Ware the dead, faithful folk.

Obey the Decree.

Praise Sigmar.

PRODUCED BY GAMES WORKSHOP IN NOTTINGHAM

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