by Warhammer
Felix let them. He knew they would never catch the greenskins now.
Grund ran as hard as he ever had in his life. He liked a fight as much as the next orc but those stunties had just been too much. He had never seen anyone fight like that dwarf with the magic axe save Ugrek himself. He knew that if he wanted revenge he would have to tell the Manflayer his tale. Ugrek would get the lads together then, and they would all come down and stomp those stunties. Grund hoped the warboss was still camped at Bloody Fist knoll. It was less than a day away, a lot less if Grund kept up this pace. Thinking about the stunty with the axe, he decided that might not be such a bad idea.
Felix passed the corpse of a goblin. Smoke rose from the body along with the smell of scorched flesh. It looked like the greenskin had died as a result of Max’s spell. There was no mark on the body, no hole that would have marked the passage of organ gun shell or shrapnel from a bomb. When he looked closely, he saw that the small humanoid’s eyes had exploded in their sockets, splattering jelly across its face. It was not a pretty sight but then again, few corpses ever were.
He walked to another of the creatures that lay sprawled face down in the dirt, and turned it over with his boot. It was not very large. Its body was no bigger than that of a child of ten. Its legs were very short in proportion to the length of its torso and the arms very long. Its head was big for its body. The creature wore a sort of hooded leather tunic, dyed bright yellow, and a sickly green. In death the hood had fallen back to reveal its face.
The features were twisted and malevolent and cunning. The nose was as long and as thin as a carrot, the mouth filled with sharp, rat-like teeth. The thing that struck him most was the creature’s hands. They were gnarled and strong, with large knuckles and very long, very dextrous-looking fingers. Something about them made Felix think of stranglers, and he knew that he would not have liked to find those hands wrapped round his throat.
In death, though, the creature looked curiously pathetic. There was something infinitely sad about its small, still form. He mentioned this to Ulrika who stood nearby watching him. She looked at him with blank incomprehension.
‘It’s dead,’ she said. ‘And that’s good. For it would have killed us if it had got the chance.’
‘You’re right,’ Felix said but still somehow he felt something like shame when he looked down on the small corpse.
Felix walked over to where Malakai Makaisson stood atop his cart. The engineer glared down truculently and Felix soon saw why. One of the wagon’s wheels had come off, and the buckboard had fallen open spilling the engineer’s tools and equipment into the dirt. At least Malakai himself did not look too hurt, although his fingers were black and his face was smudged with soot or oil.
‘Are you alright?’ Felix asked.
‘Aye. Niver better! It’ll tak mare than these sleekit wee beasties tae dae fur me, don’t you worry. It’s ma stuff ah’m worried aboot. Ah hope this crash hisnae damaged it ony.’
‘I’ll help you gather it up,’ Felix offered.
‘Dinnae you bother. Ah hae ma ane system fur this. Ah’ll sort it oot masel.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Felix said.
He strode over to where Gotrek and Snorri stood side by side, inspecting the hills into which the goblins had fled.
‘Snorri reckons we’ve seen the last of them,’ said Snorri.
Gotrek spat on the ground, and shook his head truculently. ‘Then you should leave the thinking to others, Snorri Nosebiter. For they’ll be back as soon as they find their brethren. And there will be more of them next time. You can bet gold on it.’
Felix was forced to agree. Some instinct told him that they had not heard the last of the greenskins, not by a long chalk. Behind him came the sound of hammering, as Malakai Makaisson proceeded to repair his wagon.
‘We’ll kill them all then,’ Ulli said. Felix could see that his face was still pale, and his fingers shook where they gripped his axe. Still, he had acquitted himself well enough in the battle.
‘In a brothel in Nuln they had what they claimed were goblin girls,’ said Bjorni reflectively. ‘They weren’t though. They were just human lassies with their faces painted green and their teeth filed.’
‘I could have lived my whole life cheerfully without ever finding that out,’ Felix said.
‘Well you’d be missing something then,’ Bjorni said with his repulsive leer.
Felix turned and walked away.
TEN
ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD
It was dawn. The fire was dead, reduced to a black pit of ash and cinders. Stuffing a hunk of rubbery cheese into his mouth, biting on sour dwarf waybread and washing it all down with flat ale, Felix watched as the dwarfs and the Kislevites broke camp.
Ulrika smiled at him. He reached out and squeezed her hand, and was glad to feel the pressure returned. Over Ulrika’s shoulder he could see Bjorni giving him a wink. The dwarf leered repulsively then grabbed his left biceps with his right hand and made a pumping gesture. Felix looked away. Malakai had fixed his wagon, packing away some of his components in wooden crates, leaving a bunch of things that looked suspiciously like weapons within easy reach. The ponies had returned after a couple of hours of wandering the previous evening, and were now standing docile in their harnesses.
The other Slayers had their weapons to hand and their packs over their backs and looked ready for trouble. Oleg and Standa had their bows ready. Only Max Schreiber looked out of sorts. He seemed pale and drawn and more than a little tired. A bemused, somewhat thoughtful expression marked his face. He stood taller. He had in some subtle way altered, and Felix was not quite sure how.
‘Let’s go,’ shouted Gotrek. ‘We’re still a long way from the Dragon Vale.’
Malakai jerked the reins. The Slayers fell into marching step. Far off, in the distance, Felix could see small clouds.
Max Schreiber felt exhausted. He had used a lot of power yesterday in the battle with the greenskins.
He had not slept well. Jealousy gnawed at him while Felix and Ulrika lay together under blankets on the far side of the fire. That and the snoring of the dwarfs had not made for a restful night. Eventually, after hours of staring at the cold glitter of the stars, he had managed to get to sleep. Mere moments later, it seemed, Snorri was kicking him awake. He felt like he had not slept at all. His eyed seemed glued together and he ached. Still, all things considered, he did not feel quite as bad as he had expected, and he wondered why.
He took a deep breath and tested the winds of magic. They blew weakly this day, he knew, but, even so, touching them sent a tingling through his veins, and renewed his energy. He closed his eyes and probed his own being. He felt depleted, and at the same time, curiously elated.
He knew also that the expenditure of power in yesterday’s battle had done him good, in some as yet undefined way. Sometimes, he knew, using his arts was the only way to improve them. He had gained no new insights he could think of during the battle yesterday, yet he knew he had gained something. He had managed to handle the flow of the magical winds with more fluency than he ever had before, and he had delved deeper into the well of his soul than at any time in the past. He knew his power was increasing.
In the past few weeks he had been called on several times to use his powers as he never had before. In combat with the skaven, with the dragon and yesterday with the orcs. He had used the power under pressures and stresses, the like of which he rarely encountered before in his scholarly life. It seemed to be having some profound effect on him.
As he grasped at the winds of magic and drew them to himself, he knew he was now a vessel of energies greater than any he had ever held. His senses seemed keener. His grasp of the flows of magic was stronger. His magical vision had grown more perceptive.
He was now aware in a way he had not been before of the play of awesome energies through the runes of Gotrek’s axe, and of the less strong, but nonetheless still potent, magic that permeated the blade Felix carried. He sensed that both weapons h
ad been forged with a purpose, and he could almost grasp what those purposes were. He knew Gotrek’s axe had been forged to be baneful to Chaos.
And yesterday, when Felix had drawn his blade, he had become briefly aware that it possessed something like sentience. Max wondered whether Felix knew. Most likely, yes. It would be almost impossible to bear a weapon like that for any time, and not be aware of it. Unless of course the weapon itself had concealed its power and its purpose. He decided that it was something he should talk with Felix about when he got the chance.
It was something the young man should be warned about.
Grund abased himself before Ugrek Manflayer. To be more precise, he abased himself before Ugrek Manflayer’s tent. It offended Grund’s orcish sensibilities to throw himself on the ground before anyone or anything, but with the Manflayer it paid to be careful. He was very touchy, and his temper was a thing that put fear even into orcs. That and his habit of skinning his enemies and eating bits of them while they still lived.
Ugrek’s bodyguards grunted with barely suppressed sniggers at the Broken Nose chieftain’s discomfiture. Let them, he thought. He had seen them humiliated often enough by their boss. They silenced themselves instantly when the entrance flap opened and Ugrek emerged from his tent of human skin. Grund shivered. The shaman Ixix was with the big chief and that was never good. The little runt was even madder than Ugrek and claimed to speak with the gods in his dreams. Grund supposed it must be true. Why else would the mighty Manflayer listen to a wizened little runt like the goblin?
‘Wot is it?’ Ugrek asked. Grund looked up at him. Ugrek was the largest orc in the world, Grund was sure of it. He was nearly a head taller than any other orc in the mountains, and far stronger. In one hand he carried his magical cleaver, in the other he held a big axe. His armour had to be made special-like by the captured human smith that Ugrek kept chained to his tentpole. His helmet had two huge horns protruding from it. His eyes were a healthy red.
Grund quickly explained what had happened. Much to his surprise, Ugrek looked at the shaman and then starting laughing. Ixix began to giggle too. He laughed so hard he had to wipe his nose on his snot-encrusted cloak. Grund didn’t think he saw anything funny in the situation but he laughed anyway, just to be on the safe side. It never hurt to humour the big boss. Soon the bodyguards joined in. Once they were all howling with mirth, Ugrek silenced them with a gesture of his fist. He looked down at the shaman.
‘It’s the dream for sure,’ said Ixix. ‘The gods spoke true. They are going to kill the dragon and then you are going to kill them. You will have a magic axe to match your magic cleaver, and you’ll have all the dragon’s treasure too.’
‘I will be the greatest orc war leader in the world?’ asked Ugrek.
‘You will be the greatest orc war leader in the world.’
‘Send out word!’ Ugrek bellowed. ‘Summon the tribes. We go to the Dragon Vale. We’ve got some stunties to kill.’
Just as everybody ran to obey his orders, Ugrek stopped them again. He was like that. ‘And tell every last one of your boys to leave the stunties alone till they get there too. They are mine. I am going to kill them and eat their hearts.’
Ulrika marched along through the mountains. She was not unhappy, but she was not happy either. She wondered what was happening between her and Felix. There were times when she felt certain that she loved him, and there were times when she felt equally certain that she felt nothing at all. It was odd how the passion came and went. Sometimes, as in the moment last night when they had sat by the fire and held hands, she felt they were connected deeply, as if by strong magic. And there were times, like this morning, as they marched forward under these brooding clouds when his merest glance could goad her to fury, and the look of stupid devotion she sometimes caught in his eye made her want to slap him in the face. At times like that it was almost as if he were a different man from the one who lay beside her in the night, as if he were a stranger who somehow had invaded her life.
She thought about that for a moment, and corrected herself. No. Sometimes, she felt like she was a different person, that something within her had changed in a way that she did not understand herself. He was the source of a spectrum of emotions that both enthralled and frightened her in a way no feelings ever had before. She feared to lose him, but she felt like running away from him. Somehow, in some strange way, he had gained power over her life, and she both hated this and wondered at it.
She glanced up at the turbulent clouds and felt that in some ways they reflected her own inner turmoil.
‘Best get ready,’ Gotrek said from behind her. ‘Looks like it’s going to rain hard.’
Grey Seer Thanquol looked up at the gates of Hell Pit. The walls of the monstrous crater loomed above him. Poisonous-looking lichen covered the gnarled rock. Ahead of him, carved to resemble a monstrous rat-like head with gaping jaws, was the entrance to the lair of Clan Moulder. The black iron gates of the portcullis were its teeth and skaven heads peaked out from its eye sockets. In the distance Thanquol could hear the bellowing of beasts and sense the presence of a brain-numbing amount of warpstone. The sky overhead glittered with strange colours, as clouds of chemicals rose from the chimneys within the crater to pollute the air all around.
The thunder of hooves told Thanquol that the riders of Chaos had departed behind him. A tingling of his flesh told him that whatever spell had enwrapped them had departed with them. Thanquol felt certain that the spell was simply one to warp time and enhance their speed, allowing them to cover the distance between the horde and Hell Pit in a quarter of the time it would normally have taken. At least he hoped that was what it was. As far as he could tell, he had suffered no ill-effects from the magic nor had it affected him permanently.
He breathed a prayer to the Horned Rat, almost grateful for his delivery. The followers of Tzeentch had been as good as their word, and delivered him unharmed to this citadel of skavendom. Thanquol paused only for a moment to wonder why. The followers of the Lord of Change were famed for their cunning, not their mercy. Still, he reflected, they most likely had been impressed by his incredible eloquence. Thanquol knew that no matter how cunning they might be, they could not match wits with a grey seer. He knew that once again he had overcome his enemies by the sheer power of his intelligence.
He was uneasy. He wished that they had not brought him here of all places. He would have preferred any other stronghold than Hell Pit. Any port in a storm, Thanquol thought. And at least now he had great tidings to deliver. Surely, in the face of the threat of Chaos, the elders of Clan Moulder would see the sense of making a common cause with Thanquol.
He kicked Lurk up the posterior. ‘Rise-rise! Get up lazy beast! Now is no time for resting!’
Lurk glared up at him with hate-filled eyes. Foam frothed around his lips. His chest rose and fell like bellows. He had been hard pressed to keep up with the Chaos steeds that had carried his master, but, suspecting that to fall behind would mean his death, he had somehow managed to force his battered body to keep up. Whatever spell the Chaos sorcerers had cast had affected him too. He had not been left behind in spite of their supernatural pace.
Thanquol was aware of red skaven eyes glaring down at him from above the huge carved gate. He knew that weapons were being brought to bear on him, and that reinforcements were being hastily summoned to augment the guards within.
From high above a skaven voice chittered: ‘Who is there? What is your business with Clan Moulder?’
Thanquol drew himself up to his full height and tilted back his head so that his horns were fully visible. He knew the guard would recognise the mark of the Horned Rat’s favour. He gave them a few heartbeats to appreciate it, then boomed out in his most impressive oratorical voice, ‘It is Grey Seer Thanquol come bearing important tidings for your masters.’
‘Are you Thanquol or Thanquol’s ghost?’ a tremulous voice came back. ‘Grey Seer Thanquol is dead. Killed by the dwarfs and their human allies at the battle of the hors
e soldiers’ burrow.’
Always, always, this idiocy to contend with, thought Thanquol unhappily. ‘Do I look dead, foolish vermin? Open this gate and take me to your masters or I will unleash a spell of grievous deadliness to consume your bones!’
He let a glow of pale warpfire build up around his hand to show that he meant what he said. In truth, he was certain that the protective magics woven into the crater’s walls would most likely be able to withstand even his most potent sorceries, but how could a mere sentry know this?
‘I must consult with my masters. Wait! Wait!’ Thanquol was not sure whether the guard skaven meant to stay his spell or simply wait outside the gate. It did not matter. He knew that as soon as someone in authority was summoned he would be allowed inside.
Now all he had to do was consider what he was going to say. He needed to work out what would be advantageous to tell the Moulders and what was needful to keep from them. Such things could wait, he told himself. Suddenly, confidence filled him. He knew that a skaven of his supreme intellect would have no trouble outwitting the dullards of Moulder, just as he had easily out-thought the followers of Tzeentch.
Still, he was troubled. Even for a skaven of his superlative abilities, escaping the clutches of the Chaos horde had seemed a little too easy.
Felix stared along the valley. He was amazed by how quickly things changed in the mountains. This morning it had been bright and sunny, clear as a summer’s day on the plains of Kislev. Now it was dreary and cold, with a chilliness to the wind that reminded him of snow and winter. The clouds were low and dark. In the distance he could see the flicker of lightning strokes, and hear the faraway boom of thunder.