by Warhammer
‘A pity,’ said Malgrim, ‘for there is great need. The orcs of the mountains assemble for battle. Ugrek Manflayer has organised all the tribes under his banner.’
Felix shivered. Even in distant Altdorf, he had heard tales of the Manflayer. His name was used to terrify naughty children. He was said to be a gigantic orc who skinned his captives alive and used their hides to make his clothing. Felix had always considered the tale merely a legend, but the prospector sounded convinced of his existence, and he did not seem like a dwarf who merely recounted traveller’s tales for the sake of it.
To Felix’s surprise it was Max Schreiber who spoke next. ‘There are tales of a greenskin shaman in the mountains. He is said to have powerful magic. I heard he too follows the Manflayer.’
‘Well, if they get in our way, we’ll show them what their innards look like!’ bellowed Ulli. ‘We are on our way to slay the dragon Skjalandir.’
The prospector glanced around him and slowly nodded his head, as if understanding were dawning. ‘I had wondered what would bring seven Slayers into the mountains when no battle-banners fly. It is a mighty death indeed that you seek for the dragon will give you one. Since his reawakening he has scoured the High Valleys and made of the Manling Vales a desolation. Still, I wonder if you will even catch sight of him for the greenskins are numerous and there are human bandits in the hills too.’
‘Things are grim in the mountains,’ Felix said. If Malgrim heard the irony in his voice he gave no sign.
‘Aye. There were always wild hill men but they have been joined by desperate folk driven from their farms by the depredations of the orcs and the firedrake. Life is short and cheap in the heights right now. Even more so than usual.’
‘Why does Ungrimm Ironfist not gather his army and restore the peace?’ said Felix.
Malgrim’s laughter was joined by the other dwarfs. ‘It is Ungrimm’s duty to keep Peak Pass clear, and prevent the orc hordes of the east from passing through into the lands of men. If he was to desert this vale with his force and the greenskins got word of it, then an orc horde would soon be rampaging through your Empire’s eastern provinces.’
‘Why is that important to the dwarfs? Why should they care whether Osterland is invaded?’
Malgrim looked shocked. ‘There are binding oaths and treaties of friendship between our peoples. Humans may forget the old ties, but the kinfolk do not. As our ancestors swore so shall we do.’
‘Aye, tis so!’ bellowed Ulli.
‘Also,’ Malgrim added, ‘this pass is ours. We will not allow the greenskins free passage through it.’
Felix could see that all of this was simply a long-winded way of saying that the dwarfs would not send forces to clear out the High Peak Road. As he considered the prospector’s words another thought struck him. If the Elder Race felt this way, why would they even consider sending troops to aid the Kislevites? Simple reflection gave him the answer. The threat of Chaos was of an order of magnitude greater than mere greenskin tribes raiding into human and dwarf lands. If the northlands fell before the onslaught of the hordes then all the southlands would fall soon afterwards. At least, he hoped the dwarfs thought this way. There was little hope of help if they did not.
‘I say we stop and slaughter some greenskins on our way to face the dragon!’ said Ulli.
‘You can if ye want tae,’ Makaisson said. ‘Ah hae business wae that big beastie and it wullnae wait.’
‘The greenskins will still be there after the dragon is dealt with. That’s if any of us are alive to care,’ Bjorni said.
‘If any orcs get in our way we will kill them,’ Gotrek said. ‘Otherwise we go to kill the dragon.’
‘Snorri thinks that’s a fine plan,’ said Snorri Nosebiter, then added wistfully, ‘still, Snorri wouldn’t mind slaughtering a few greenies.’
‘It’s late,’ Gotrek said. ‘Those who aren’t on guard should get some sleep.’
The prospector nodded and laid himself down by the fire. Felix returned to where Ulrika and the other humans were sitting.
‘What was that all about?’ Ulrika asked.
‘The Slayers can’t decide whether we should cleanse the mountains of orcs or dragons first.’
‘Why not do both?’ asked Oleg ironically.
‘Hush!’ Felix said. ‘They might hear you.’
All around great bonfires blazed. From nearby Thanquol could hear the disquieting roars of beastmen and the thunder of huge drums. He could smell tens of thousands of beastmen nearby and thousands of the black armoured Chaos warriors. He knew then that he was in the encampment of the largest army he had encountered since he himself had commanded the massive skaven force that attacked Nuln. He also suspected that in terms of sheer raw power this monstrous force completely outclassed even that mighty skaven horde. He knew enough of the followers of Chaos to understand that one for one they were more than a match for all but the most puissant of skaven.
All around he could smell warpstone, and his magician’s senses told him that the winds of magic blew strong around this army. It was worrying, for he knew that this force possessed not only mere physical might, but a terrible magical potency as well. He knew that even at the peak of his powers he would be hard pressed to overcome the sorcerers gathered here, and he was far from the unassailable height of his awesome abilities.
He could tell just from the flow of energies around him that his captors were approaching the heart of the horde, the nexus around which all this energy flowed. As they came closer he sensed the presence of mighty beings, creatures of a potency he had not encountered since he stood before the Council of Thirteen themselves.
At the heart of the camp was a great gathering of armoured Chaos warriors. Their steeds roamed nearby as the masters squatted beside camp fires that burned yellow and green and other colours that spoke of magical origin. They talked to each other in their debased tongue and Thanquol could tell just from their tone that they were boasting of conquests to come. Just looking at them filled his heart with fear and tightened his musk glands. He glanced around, suddenly grateful that Lurk was there. The presence of another skaven was somehow reassuring even to Grey Seer Thanquol in the centre of this awful force.
Ahead of them, he was sure they would find the war leaders of the horde. He sensed their presence before he saw them, and when they came into view he knew his impressions were correct.
A huge armoured figure lounged in a massive throne of crystal that pulsed with subdued yellows and greens. The throne floated a fingerbreadth over the ground. Using his sorcerer’s senses Thanquol could see that both the man and his seat were permeated with the energies of Chaos. Across his knees was a massive two-handed broadsword covered in yellowish glowing runes. Thanquol did not have to be told that the weapon was enwrapped with the mightiest of killing magics. He could see this for himself, just as he could see that the armour was designed to act not merely as a shield against weapons but against sorcery too. The man’s armour was golden with greenish rondels and inscribed with runes that Thanquol knew were sacred to Tzeentch.
Flanking the throne were two figures. They were lean and vulturish, unarmoured and swathed in huge cloaks whose folds gave them a resemblance to wings. Their skin had an albino whiteness that was close to the grey seer’s own. Looking closely at their thin, hungry features and hellishly glowing eyes Thanquol could see that they were twins, identical in all ways except one. The one on the general’s right hand side held a gold sheathed staff in his right hand. The one on the left held a staff of ebony and silver in his left hand. The hand which held the gold-sheathed staff had long talon-like nails of gold. The talons of the left-hand wizard were encased in silver. That the two were potent sorcerers was immediately obvious to Thanquol. Unwilling as he was to concede that any save the Council of Thirteen might be stronger than he in the use of magic, he knew that he would need to consume prodigious amounts of warpstone to overcome either one of these two in sorcerous battle. If they worked together, he feared to consider
the powers they might wield.
The Chaos warlord glared balefully down at Thanquol. The grey seer at once prostrated himself, and said, ‘I bring greetings, mighty warlord, from the Council of Thirteen.’
‘Your masters knew of our coming then, grey seer?’ said the warlord. Thanquol thought it better to lie than to admit the truth. He sensed tendrils of mystical energy coming from the two wizards who flanked the warlord. Immediately he masked his thoughts as best he could. Since he was a grey seer, he knew this was very well indeed.
‘They sensed a mighty gathering of forces and sent me northwards to investigate.’
Well, it could almost be true, thought Thanquol. ‘Alone and unaccompanied. That is most unusual,’ said the magus with the gold staff.
‘I am accompanied by my bodyguard, Lurk Snitchtongue, and protected by my own mighty magic. What need have I of any other protection?’ Thanquol said, a hint of his old arrogance returning.
‘What need indeed,’ said the sorcerer with the ebony staff. Thanquol noticed the hint of mockery in his voice and vowed that one day he would make the magician pay for it. How dare this hairless ape make light of the greatest sorcerer in skavendom. ‘Tis true your bodyguard shows signs of the blessings of our lord Tzeentch. The Great Mutator has touched him. He has the favour of the Changer of the Ways.’
Thanquol glared over at Lurk, who preened himself visibly at these words. Black rage ate at the grey seer’s bowels. Thanquol wondered if Lurk had been consorting with the followers of the Chaos Powers while he was in the Wastes. That would explain the changes in him, for sure. If this were the case he would be made to pay for his apostasy to the Horned Rat. Another score to settle, Thanquol told himself. Assuming he survived this encounter, which at the moment looked by no means certain.
‘You lead this great host?’ Thanquol asked, out of politeness.
‘I am Arek Daemonclaw,’ said the Chaos warrior, ‘Chosen of Tzeentch. These are Kelmain Blackstaff and Lhoigor Goldenrod, my spellcrafters.’
‘I thank you for this information, mighty one,’ Thanquol said diplomatically. ‘I am Grey Seer Thanquol and I abase myself a thousand times before you and offer you the alliance of the Council of Thirteen.’
Thanquol knew he was being a little premature here but he was determined to say anything he needed to get himself out of this trap. ‘We have no need of alliances, Grey Seer Thanquol. What you see here is but the vanguard of a greater host. The Powers march forth to claim the lands of men once more. Those who do not abase themselves before the Powers of Ruin, and most especially my master Tzeentch, will be destroyed. This world will be cleansed and remade in the image we desire and all the false gods and their followers will be swept away.’
There was something in Arek’s voice that compelled belief. His words almost convinced even Thanquol, but the grey seer was too wily a sorcerer and too well schooled in the ways of magic not to recognise a potent spell when he encountered one. He dismissed the hypnotic compulsion in the voice by an effort of will. A glance at Lurk told him that his henchman was making no such effort. He looked at Arek enthralled.
Thanquol could understand why. Lurk was ensnared by the Gift of Tzeentch the warlord was using, and his feeble mind was enthralled by the dark visions of conquest that hovered behind the Chaos warrior’s words. He had even raised his head from the dirt to hear them better. The two sorcerers looked down at him with mocking interest. Thanquol concentrated on matters at hand, deciding he had best find out what was going on, while his enemies seemed in the mood to answer his questions.
‘All four of the Powers march then?’
‘Aye. Tis the way. When one makes a move, the others must respond, lest they lose some advantage.’
That made sense to a skaven as astute as Thanquol. It was exactly the way the clans of his own race manoeuvred back in Skavenblight. He sensed that he was beginning to understand what was happening here, and might even be able to use it to his advantage. Perhaps he could even see the reason why these Chaos worshippers had spared him.
‘There are advantages to be gained in alliances,’ he said. ‘My own god is mighty and has great powers. My people possess vast armies.’
‘Your god is weaker than ours, Grey Seer Thanquol, but his aid might prove useful. Your armies might join our own in time. Certainly, we are the only ones who will make this offer. The followers of Khorne are too brutish. The followers of Nurgle care only for the spreading of their foul plagues, and the followers of Slaanesh are too wrapped up in their own pursuit of pleasure to consider aught but that.’
‘I will convey your words to the Council of Thirteen and explain all that you have said to them.’ Thanquol mouthed the empty words expertly, still worrying about what had been done to Lurk.
‘See that you do, Grey Seer Thanquol, and your rewards will be great.’
‘I thank you mighty warlord.’ Suddenly a thought struck Thanquol. He doubted that his request would be granted but he could see no harm in asking. ‘I sense the substance known as warpstone is carried by your army.’
‘It is one of our master’s greatest gifts and is used in sorcery and in the making of weapons.’
‘We too use it for such purposes, which I take as a sign of our common purpose,’ said Thanquol, pleased with his own eloquence.
‘Do you wish some?’ asked the sorcerer with the golden staff. Thanquol could not quite believe his luck. He licked his lips greedily.
‘Yes-yes!’ he said.
‘Then you shall have it.’ The sorcerer flexed his fingers and the air in front of him glowed. Particles of greenish dust flowed together forming a ball the size of Thanquol’s fist. With another gesture the mage sent it spinning towards the grey seer. Thanquol knew instantly what it was, and snatched it out of the air. His paw tingled as he closed it around a sphere of the purest warpstone he had ever encountered. Hastily he pushed it into his pouch. He could not believe the fools had just handed him the key to so much power. Some inner instinct, which he had long ago learned to trust, told him to be careful. Perhaps all of this was merely a trap. Still, he could not quite see what the Chaos worshippers had to gain. He was already in their power.
‘An enclave of your kind is near,’ Arek said. ‘The place called Hell Pit. I will instruct my riders to escort you there. See that you bear our words to your rulers, Grey Seer Thanquol, and speak fairly of us.’
‘Rest assured I will,’ Thanquol said, offering up a silent prayer to the Horned Rat thanking him for his deliverance. It looked like he and Lurk were going to get away from the horde with their lives.
The suspicious part of him, which had kept him alive so long, told him that it wasn’t going to be quite that easy.
Felix watched as Malgrim rolled up his blankets and placed them in the pack on the mule’s back. The dwarf looked at them and then shook his head.
‘I’d tell you all to be careful, but it would be daft to say that to seven Slayers and a rememberer, so I’ll just thank you for the use of your fire, your food and your company.’
‘Have you any news of the road ahead?’ Felix asked.
‘Aye,’ said the prospector. ‘About a day’s march ahead, you’ll find the village of Gelt. It’s an odd place, a meeting place for prospectors, and a trading post for the mountain-folk. There’s a deep mine there still. And an inn. I suggest you take advantage of it, for you’ll be seeing the last friendly faces you’re going to see for a while.’
Malgrim paused and considered his next words. ‘That’s if the orcs haven’t razed the place to the ground.’
NINE
AN ORCISH ENCOUNTER
Felix strode down the path into the small valley. He was pleased to see that Gelt still stood. It was a placid enough looking little settlement, if you discounted the high stone walls, topped with a wooden palisade, and the guard towers that loomed above the walls. It had been built on a knob of rock rising in the middle of the valley. From his vantage point on the trail above the village, Felix could see smoke drifting
upwards through holes cut in the turf roofed stone cottages. There was a large central structure he took to be the inn. On a ledge above the village was what he first took to be another watchtower and eventually realised was the fortified entrance to the mine. A gravel path ran all the way down the hillside to the gates of the town.
Judging from the size of the place several hundred people lived there, and by the look of the fortifications, it would be a hard place to take by storm. He could see humans and dwarfs walking the stony streets in about equal numbers.
‘Looks like a safe enough place,’ he said aloud, as much to reassure himself as for the sake of speaking.
‘Aye, manling, providing the attackers don’t have siege engines,’ said Gotrek.
‘Or powerful sorcery,’ said Max Schreiber.
‘Or aren’t mounted on flying monsters,’ added Ulrika.
Felix glanced around at his companions. ‘Sorry I spoke,’ he said eventually. ‘I hate to destroy your cheery mood.’
‘Snorri is looking forward to a drop of ale,’ said Snorri Nosebiter. ‘Old Hargrim said the Broken Pickaxe brews the best ale in the mountains.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Gotrek said. ‘Let’s get down there.’
‘Don’t worry, Felix Jaeger,’ Ulli said. ‘No orc would dare attack Gelt while I am there.’
‘Wonder if they have any bar girls?’ Bjorni said. ‘I could use a little company.’
‘Maybe there’ll be a game of chance,’ said Steg. ‘I brought my own special dice.’
Grimme merely shook his head, sucked his teeth, and marched stolidly down the hill. At the rear, Standa and Oleg glanced over their shoulders. They had their strung bows held ready in their hands, but there was no perceptible threat.
‘Go on,’ Felix said. ‘We should be safe for this evening, at least.’
‘If the dragon doesn’t come get us,’ Oleg said.
‘Look on the bright side,’ Felix said. Misgivings and forebodings aside, everybody looked a little happier once they were past the dwarf sentries on the gate.