Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  Thanquol knew that Grottle knew that he could do no such thing. The fat monster was simply toying with him, now that he had the grey seer in his power. He wondered if Grottle would dare do away with him. Thanquol was, after all, one of the chosen of the Horned Rat and a favoured emissary of the Council of Thirteen. Surely, not even this ravenous beast would dare harm him. Considered reflection told Thanquol that this was unfortunately not the case.

  At this moment there was nobody save the Moulders and Lurk who knew of his whereabouts. He had set off in utmost secrecy, hoping to acquire the airship for himself and return to present himself in triumph to the Council. If anything happened to him now, it would be as if he had simply vanished from the face of the earth. Thanquol’s fur rose at the sheer unfairness of it. He had come here in good faith to warn the Moulders of the peril of the approaching Chaos horde, and they were prepared to assassinate him over some petty debt they felt he owed them. He glared at Grottle, and swore that whatever happened he would make this fat fool pay for his insolence. He was still capable of blasting his enemies into their component atoms. Grottle had entered this chamber at his peril. As if sensing the change in Thanquol’s mood Grottle looked up at him and growled. It was a fearsome sound, and Thanquol remembered that, for all his enormous bulk, the Moulder could be alarmingly swift and terrifyingly strong in battle. He let his anger subside a little, but remained prepared to instantly summon his powers in his own defence.

  ‘The troops have not returned?’ said Thanquol, affecting surprise.

  ‘A very few,’ allowed Grottle, spearing another morsel with one of his claws, transferring it to his mouth and gulping it down. ‘They brought confused tales of a battle, and sorcery and a massacre of skaven. There were suggestions of incompetent leadership, Grey Seer Thanquol. Very incompetent leadership.’

  ‘I left command of the military side of the venture to the Moulders,’ said Thanquol quickly, knowing that in a sense it was true. It was not his fault that the Moulder leaders were incapable of implementing his brilliant plans. ‘I would not presume to judge their efficiency.’

  Grottle shook his head, as if Thanquol were a particularly slow runt who had failed to understand his meaning. ‘You were in overall command, I believe, Grey Seer Thanquol. You were responsible for the success of the mission. You gave many assurances to the Clanlords of Moulder. They are... disappointed. Most disappointed.’

  Thanquol’s tail stiffened in outrage. He bared his fangs angrily. A nimbus of light winked into being around his fingers as he prepared to unleash his most destructive spell.

  ‘Before you do anything too hasty, Grey Seer Thanquol, please consider this,’ Grottle said. ‘After the debacle at Nuln, I do not rank quite so highly within my clan as I once did. You might say I am in disgrace. You might also say that my Clanlords consider me expendable, which is why they have delegated me to have this conversation with you. You might further want to consider that you are in the heart of Clan Moulder’s greatest citadel. Within call are thousands upon thousands of clanrat warriors. Not to mention a virtually limitless supply of altered beasts. Anyone so foolish as to attack a member of the clan, and then try to escape from this place, would not get more than a hundred strides. I mention this knowing that you are too wise to attempt any such thing. Far too wise.’

  Thanquol ground his teeth in frustration. Grottle’s threat was clear. Also implicit in the statement was the fact that no one would care if he took Grottle hostage and tried to negotiate a way out. He was almost embarrassed to admit that he had not even considered trying it. Grottle continued to speak. His deep voice sounded mild, gentle even. ‘To tell the truth, I was surprised that you came here. I would not have expected it after the... embarrassment with the airship. Why did you come?’

  ‘I bring appalling tidings, and a warning for the masters of Moulder.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ Grottle asked disinterestedly. He sucked something from his extended talon. His claws looked alarmingly sharp, Thanquol noted.

  ‘A Chaos horde, limitless in numbers and boundless in power, makes its way southwards. It seems the servants of the four Powers are leaving the Wastes and coming south as they did generations ago.’

  ‘This is grave news. If true.’

  ‘It is true. I swear it by the Thirteen Secret Names of the Horned Rat. I have seen the host with my own eyes, smelled it with my own snout. Lurk and I barely escaped it with our lives.’

  Thanquol thought it best not to mention that the followers of Tzeentch had let him go. He wanted to give Grottle no excuse to think that he might be a spy or a traitor to the skaven cause. He knew there were many jealous ratmen who would be only too keen to give such an interpretation to events, despite the inherent ludicrousness of the idea. Despite the fact that Thanquol’s name was a byword for devotion to the skaven cause, he was wise enough to know that he had enemies who would give a twisted interpretation to even his most innocent act. He prayed that Lurk would remember this too.

  ‘This is terrible news then. What do you propose that we should do?’

  ‘Muster your armies, make ready to defend Hell Pit against an invasion by the forces of Chaos. It might happen.’

  ‘And if it does not?’

  ‘Then muster your armies anyway. Surely the horde will sow terror and alarm along its path. In the coming war there will be many opportunities to advance the skaven cause.’

  Even as his words carried him away, Thanquol could see they were true. The Chaos horde was going to attack the human kingdom. Whatever the outcome, the struggle would surely weaken even the victorious side. All the skaven had to do was wait and new opportunities would inevitably fall into their outstretched paw. ‘The Council of Thirteen must be notified at once.’

  Grottle yawned and rose from his chair. ‘You may be right, Grey Seer Thanquol. I will report your words to my masters. They will decide what to do next.’

  Thanquol could not believe it. He had just handed this fat fool information of the utmost importance, and he could not see the urgency of the situation. Thanquol considered blasting him out of sheer frustration. He restrained himself, knowing that he would have to get word to the Council. Armies would have to be assembled. Plans would have to be made. He knew that there was no one better equipped to lead such a force than himself. In his excitement he almost forgot about the airship. In the coming war there would be countless opportunities to cover himself in glory and advance his position in the eyes of the Thirteen. The Horned Rat had surely blessed him once more. Once again he was in the right place at the right time.

  Grottle paused at the entrance to the chamber. ‘By the way, Grey Seer Thanquol, until this matter is resolved, you are the guest of my clan. We will see to your safety. We will make sure your needs are met. You are, after all, a very special guest. I am sure you understand my meaning.’

  Thanquol’s heart sank. He knew exactly what Izak Grottle meant. He knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was the prisoner of Clan Moulder.

  ELEVEN

  INTO THE VALLEY OF DEATH

  Felix looked down on the entrance to the Dragon Vale. He had not seen a scene of such surpassing bleakness since they left the Chaos Wastes. Around the shores of a small lake lay a collection of burned out ruins that had once been a town. All the houses, watchtowers and farms that had once surrounded the town had been equally devastated. The fields were overgrown, and here and there what could only be bones glittered whitely amid the long grass. In some ways this was worse than the Wastes, for it was obvious that the lands below had once been as thriving and prosperous as they were now desolate.

  At the far end of the valley stood a great barren peak, rising above the slopes of the foothills. There was something especially horrible about this mountain. It had a sense of presence, of menace. Just by looking at its greyish sides, you could tell that there was something dreadful lurking there.

  Felix tried to tell himself that it was just his imagination. Supplied with the knowledge that they w
ere within sight of the dragon’s lair, his mind was working overtime, conjuring up an atmosphere of gloom and destruction.

  Even as he tried to reassure himself he knew he was right. There was something horrible about this place. No birds sang. The wind that blew down the valley was mournful. The clouds hung low and oppressive in the sky. At any moment, Felix feared to look up and see a huge winged shape descending out of them.

  It had been a long march. Almost three days had passed since their encounter with Johan Gatz, and during that time his suspicions about the supposed minstrel had increased. There had been times when Ulrika had thought she had seen men watching them from the hills. Times when he himself had caught sight of greenskins moving along the high slopes parallel to them. It looked as if they were being watched by at least two factions as they had moved through the mountains.

  At least the watchers had proved wary. They had stayed well out of bowshot and vanished as soon as the Slayers made the first signs of pursuit. By the time they got to the spot where the greenskins had been, the orcs had vanished. It seemed that the fate of their earlier attackers had taught any would-be ambushers a lesson. Either that or they were waiting for something. Felix could not guess what. Perhaps now they had entered the Dragon Vale, they would be left alone. Or perhaps the greenskins were simply waiting for the dragon to slay the interlopers, then they would descend and despoil the bodies. If the dragon left anything to despoil. Felix wasn’t feeling any too cheerful about the outcome of their quest. It was all too easy to believe that every last one of them would die in this place.

  He squared his shoulders and smiled experimentally, hoping this would change his mood. If that were the case, he told himself, at least Gotrek would achieve his long-sought doom. He glanced over at Ulrika and any cheery thoughts evaporated. They had barely spoken on the trip here. Actually, she had spoken more to Max Schreiber than to Felix. It was obvious that she was purposefully avoiding him.

  In a way he did not blame her. What future was there for them now? They would most likely die within the next few days. And even if by some miracle they survived the encounter with the dragon, they would soon have to face the horde of Chaos rampaging down into Kislev. He was not even sure how he felt about her himself. He was hurt by the way she treated him, and felt absurdly and exaggeratedly sensitive to her behaviour. At times during the march, he had been more concerned by the way she avoided looking at him, or the way she talked to Max, than he was with the possibility that he might soon be slaughtered by the dragon.

  Max, at least, looked cheery. He smiled as he joked with Ulrika. Felix’s stomach churned as he saw her smile back. He was jealous and guilty and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Oleg and Standa refused to look at him too. He was certain it was nothing personal, they were simply standing by Ulrika as was their duty. They could not take his side even if they wanted to. Felix cursed to himself. Even by the excruciating standards of the treks he had endured with Gotrek, this was a miserable journey.

  ‘There’s a dragon about here somewhere!’ bellowed Ulli. ‘I can smell him.’

  The other Slayers looked at the youth with a mixture of contempt, amusement and irritation. ‘Does your keen nose tell you how soon we will encounter it?’ asked Gotrek sarcastically. Ulli fell silent.

  ‘I reckon we’ll be at the dragon mount inside a day,’ said Bjorni. ‘We’ll see it then.’

  ‘I wonder how much treasure it has?’ Steg said. Felix looked at him uneasily. He could see the gleam of gold fever in the dwarf’s eyes. It was not a reassuring sight. Dwarfs had been known to do many dishonourable things under its influence. It seemed he was not the only one who recognised it.

  ‘Dinnae you worry yersel aboot the dragon’s gold,’ said Malakai. ‘You joost keep thinkin’ about the big beastie itself.’

  Grimme glared at Steg. Steg looked at his feet. He seemed almost embarrassed.

  ‘There’s something else down there,’ Gotrek said. ‘I can smell it. And it’s not a dragon.’

  Felix had a lot more faith in Gotrek’s nose than he had in Ulli’s. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gotrek said. ‘But whatever it is, you can bet it won’t be friendly.’

  ‘Now there’s a surprise,’ muttered Felix.

  ‘Who be ye?’ asked the madwoman as they entered the ruined town. She stood outside the remains of an inn. Like all the buildings in the town it was built from stone. Now it spoke only of the dragon’s capacity for destruction. Its walls were scorched and caked with soot from the burning of its timbers. In places the stones had melted and run, a testimony to the heat of the dragon’s breath.

  Felix looked at her. Her face was filthy and her clothing reeked. She was garbed in tattered rags. A blackened scarf held her matted hair out of her eyes. More rags were wrapped around her feet. A huge claw-like nail emerged from the cloth bandaged around her left foot. Just from looking into her eyes, Felix could tell that she and sanity had parted company a long time ago.

  The dwarfs looked at her warily. Gotrek had warned them they were being watched minutes ago, and they had all readied weapons. It was difficult to see what threat she could be to such a heavily armed party unless she were some sort of witch. Felix glanced over at Max. As if reading his thoughts, the sorcerer looked at the woman and shook his head.

  ‘We are travellers, passing through,’ Felix said. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I had a name once. I had a man. I had babies. This was my home.’ A wild gesture indicated the burned out shell of the tavern. ‘No more. Now I wait. Now you travel and you travel to meet death.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Death dwells on your road. He dwells in a cave in the mountains. Death came here and devoured my family, my friends and my children. Death will come again for me soon.’

  Felix felt an uncomfortable sympathy for the old woman. She had seen her whole life destroyed by the dragon and had retreated into madness. Here was another of the creature’s victims, like poor Varek. ‘It was the dragon who killed your loved ones,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Death is the dragon. The dragon is death,’ she said and let out a high pitched cackling laugh. ‘And round here death has many servants and many worshippers. As you shall soon find out. As the others did.’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘Other dwarfs with big axes and bad haircuts. Mighty men mounted on chargers and armed with lances. Men of violence who came seeking death’s hoard. All of them bones now, scattered along the road to death’s cave.’

  Felix knew she was referring to some of the Slayers who had preceded them. He wondered about the knights though, and this troop of mercenaries who had apparently come seeking the dragon’s treasure. It seemed Skjalandir had visited destruction on them all.

  ‘Tell me about these mercenaries,’ Felix said. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘They came seeking death’s gold. They had swords and shields and axes. They had great engines of destruction and wizards to cast spells. They climbed death’s mountain. Death took them. Death gulped down their flesh and spat out their bones. He let a few of them flee and then hunted them down, flying after them on his leathery pinions. Listening to their screams as the shadow of his mighty wings fell across them. In the end, death took them all, but not before he had made them suffer.’

  ‘The dragon played with them,’ Max Schreiber said ominously.

  ‘Death is not kind,’ said the woman. ‘Death will come for us all. Some he lets live so that they might worship him. Some he punishes for their disobedience of his will. Death is a terrible, angry god. Best you turn back, strangers, while you yet may.’

  ‘Are you saying some of the surviving townspeople worship the dragon? Do you?’

  ‘Some there are who still dwell here, who kill newcomers and offer them up as sacrifices to death. I say they are fools. What need has death of their offerings? Death takes what he wishes, and one day he will take their lives as well.’

  Wonderful, t
hought Felix. Not only do we have the dragon, the greenskins and the bandits to worry about, we have some crazed survivors who worship the beast as a god.

  ‘Thank you for your words. Do you need anything?’ Felix asked. ‘Food? Water? Money?’

  The madwoman shook her head, then turned and limped away into the ruins. Felix felt he ought to do something. Perhaps call her back or offer her their protection, then he realised how ludicrous the idea was. They might well not be able to protect themselves, and the safest place for her to be was well away from them.

  ‘Let her go,’ said Max Schreiber.

  Felix watched her walk away. Part of him thought he might be safer if he did the same.

  The road wound along the shores of the lake. The waters were calm and still, and reflected the surrounding mountains like a mirror. Occasionally, the wind stirred up some waves and sent them to break on the beach. It was the only sound Felix could hear other than the moaning of the wind, and the creak of the wheels of Malakai’s wagon. All around the landscape was bleak and desolate. There were many signs of human habitation – bothies, cottages, shepherds’ huts – but all of them looked abandoned or destroyed. Felix tried to imagine what the valley must have been like when it was inhabited. Sheep must have grazed along these hills. Woodcutters must have worked amid the copses of firs. Lovers must have walked hand in hand along the water’s edge. Doubtless fishing boats had dragged their nets through the lake. Felix had seen the stone pylons that had once supported the burned out pier back in the town. He had seen the blackened hulks of ships overturned in the water, scorched by dragonfire, holed by dragon claws.

  It was cold now. He tugged his red Sudenland wool cloak tight around him to fight off the chill. Bjorni broke out into a raucous and bawdy ballad about a troll and a tavern keeper’s daughter. His voice boomed out, disturbing the eerie silence. Felix knew that Bjorni was singing to lighten their gloomy mood, but even so, wished that he would not. It seemed somehow unwise to challenge the brooding silence, to draw attention to themselves in any way. To do so invited destruction to descend on them as it had done on the inhabitants of the valley.