by Warhammer
Outrage flared within Felix’s brain at the sight of this horrible death. The flames continued to flicker outwards, scouring the ledges on which the Kislevites stood. Max’s magical barrier flickered but held, but Felix could see that it was starting to collapse. He had no idea how much longer the wizard could hold it for. Once the shimmering spell shield went down, Ulrika and Max and the archers would suffer the same fate as Grimme. Just the thought of that happening triggered something within Felix’s brain. Power flowed out of the sword. Without even realising what he was doing, he found himself running forward towards the mighty beast. His path took him up a pile of treasure and a flying leap took him right on top of the dragon’s skull.
If the blinded dragon felt his presence it gave no sign. He stood upright atop its head. The runes on the blade blazed bright with deadly magic. He summoned all his strength and drove the blade downwards, even as he felt the dragon rear up beneath him.
The deadly spells woven into it by its ancient creators enabled the blade to pass through scale and flesh. There was resistance as the enchanted steel met the bones of the skull. Felix leaned forward with all his weight. The blade twisted in his hands, aiding him. In a moment, the weapon was through and its deadly runes were lodged in the dragon’s brain.
The dragon gave one last deadly bellow, and its whole body spasmed reflexively. Felix felt a sickening sense of acceleration as its neck uncoiled and the ground receded below him. He was almost thrown clear. Knowing the drop would kill him, Felix held onto the embedded blade with all his strength. Then the dragon began to topple backwards.
This was not such a good idea, thought Felix, as the ground rose to meet him once more.
TWELVE
THE BATTLE
Felix fell. He knew that he had moments to live. There was nothing in his mind save fear and a sick sense of vertigo as he dropped. No noble thoughts. No last memories of life. Just the thought that he had made an error. One strange image burned itself into his brain. The sorcerous sphere still followed him, keeping pace effortlessly. It occurred to him that perhaps he could reach out and grab it. The magic that allowed it to fly might slow his fall.
Desperately he grabbed for it, but it remained out of his reach. His sword fell from his hands. He twisted desperately, straining with every fibre of his being to grab the light but it eluded him. He cursed and then there was the impact.
Death was not quite what he expected. There was pain. There was darkness. There was a sense of air being expelled from his lungs. There was a sense of being pushed downwards by an enormous force. He was not sure though that he should feel quite so wet. Blood, he thought irrationally. His body had split open on impact. That was the wetness he felt.
Then the wet stuff filled his mouth and started to trickle down his throat. He could not breathe.
I am not dead yet then, he thought. Maybe my lungs are filling with blood like those poor devils I saw dying of poison gas in Nuln.
Panic filled him. This was worse than a nightmare. It was horrible knowing that these were his last few seconds of life and that there was nothing he could do about it.
Then he noticed there were bubbles all around him. The light was still above him. Was he hallucinating, he wondered? Instinctively he grasped that something important was going on here. He had missed something. Then it came to him. He was not dead. He was in water. He must have been catapulted into the pool at the far end of the cave by the force of the dragon’s last spasm. There was still a chance that he might live. He breathed out, expelling the water from his mouth, trying desperately not to breathe any more in.
But it was only a chance, he realised. The force pushing him down was not a product of his imagination. It was the pressure from the tons of water falling into the pool, driving him downwards with enormous force. He tried kicking upwards but it was useless. There was nothing he could do against such power.
For a moment he felt despair. He had merely exchanged one death for another. He was not going to be killed by the monster or by the fall, he was going to drown. His lungs were almost empty. In its need for air, his desperate body sought to betray him. It took a huge effort not to breathe in the water.
Fierce resolution filled him. He had not come so far and survived an encounter with a dragon in order to be killed by a waterfall. There had to be something he could do. He relaxed and let the pressure drive him downwards. His face hit rock. His mouth almost opened reflexively to scream but he held it shut by force of will. His lungs felt like they were bursting.
Be calm, he told himself. Think. He noticed that he was starting to drift to one side. The current had hit the rocky floor of the pool and was being deflected. He allowed it to carry him, and the pressure from above eased.
Darkness hovered at the edge of his vision. He was on the verge of blacking out. Just keep going, he told himself. Don’t give up. The worst is past.
He struck out for the surface and noticed that the glowing sphere still followed him. That was good; it gave him some light to see by.
His chainmail shirt felt like it was made of lead. The weight of it tugged at him, pulling him down. He considered stopping and trying to pull it off, but knew that he would just be wasting precious time and air. He had to keep going.
Stroke by stroke, with all the effort of a man pulling himself up a mountainside, Felix swam for the surface. His limbs felt like lead. He could barely see. His lungs were about to explode. Still he swam onwards and upwards. Until at last, just as he was certain he could endure no more, his head broke the surface, and he breathed in a lungful of pure fresh air. He was certain he had never tasted anything so sweet.
Felix pulled himself over the edge of the pool. Water puddled at his feet. His clothes were sodden. He saw that the dwarfs and Ulrika were running towards him. Despite the age he felt he had been underwater, he realised that only moments had passed since he killed the dragon. Its huge corpse lay flopping and twitching on the ground nearby, its movements scattering gold coins everywhere.
Ulrika raced up. Tears streamed down her face. ‘I thought you were dead,’ she said as she embraced him.
‘I feel like I ought to be,’ he murmured, pulling her close and feeling the warm weight of her body against his.
The dwarfs gathered round to congratulate him.
‘Aye, well, we’re rich,’ said Malakai, looking at the dragon’s hoard.
‘Except that we can’t carry more than a small part of this treasure,’ Max said.
‘And there’s a small army of greenskins outside,’ Ulli said. ‘What are we going to do about them?’
‘Kill them,’ Gotrek said. ‘Or die trying. We’ve failed to achieve our dooms here. The gods have provided us with another.’
‘I’ve had enough of seeking death for one day,’ Felix said.
‘You’re a dragon slayer now,’ Bjorni said. ‘Surely you’re not scared of a few greenskins.’
‘I would like to live to enjoy my triumph,’ Felix said sourly.
He looked around. Oleg and Standa were still with them, and more or less unmarked. Gotrek and Snorri appeared unharmed. Ulli looked almost exultant having survived his encounter with Skjalandir. Bjorni contemplated the dragon’s hoard in wonder.
Their casualties had been surprisingly few. They had been very lucky.
Varek had done them more of a favour than they had ever guessed when he gave his life to drive the dragon off. The wound he had inflicted on it had weakened the monster enough for them to kill it. If anyone deserved the title ‘dragon slayer’ it was Varek.
He walked over and picked up his sword. It no longer felt particularly magical. All power seemed gone from it. It was just a fine blade once more. No hint of its fell purpose remained.
Still, it was a good weapon, and he was used to it. He stuck it back in its scabbard.
Felix wondered if he should suggest burying the dead, but Steg was lost beneath the body of the fallen dragon and Grimme was charred to a crisp. It hardly seemed worth the effort. Parti
cularly since the orcs might soon be arriving. He mentioned this to the others.
‘Perhaps we can find another way out,’ suggested Max. ‘These tunnels must lead somewhere.’
‘They might be an endless maze,’ Ulrika said. ‘We could get lost and wander till we die.’
‘No dwarf ever got lost underground,’ Bjorni said. The other Slayers nodded their agreement.
‘Be that as it may,’ Felix said, ‘there might not be another way out.’
‘The manling has the right of it,’ Gotrek said. ‘And what’s more, no Slayer ever ran from a mass of goblins.’
Thinking of the less than totally courageous behaviour exhibited by some of their company, Felix wondered if that were true. Now did not seem like a good time to air his doubts however. Instead he said, ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Snorri thinks we should go up to the surface and kill them,’ said Snorri Nosebiter.
Are these maniacs really going to talk us all into going up to the surface and getting killed, wondered Felix? It seemed all too likely.
‘What if they kill us all?’ Max asked. ‘Are you really going to leave all this treasure here for them to take?’
Thank you, Max, thought Felix. You just mentioned the only thing that might influence a gang of dwarf Slayers in a situation like this.
‘They will not pass us,’ said Snorri. ‘We shall stand on a wall of corpses and throw them back!’
‘Let’s just assume you don’t,’ Max said. ‘All of this treasure will go to enrich the orcs. They could use it to buy weapons, and attack dwarf lands.’
‘No dwarf would ever sell them weapons.’
‘Alas, some humans might,’ said Max. The dwarfs nodded their heads sagely at the thought of such human treachery.
‘You hae a point,’ said Malakai. ‘If ah had some blastin’ pooder ah could rig this ceiling’ tae collapse. But ah dinnae!’
‘I brought a sack of your bombs from the cart,’ Ulli said.
‘Guid lad!’ said Malakai beaming broadly. The smile faded just as quickly as the thought of someone fumbling around amongst his treasures occurred to him. Felix could read it on his face.
‘It’s a bit early to be thinking of such things,’ Bjorni said. ‘Surely we should head up to the cave mouth and take a look.’
‘Best be careful, then,’ Max said. ‘While they think the dragon is still alive I doubt that they will come in. If they see you up there, they might think we killed it, and come looking for us.’
‘But we did kill the dragon,’ said Snorri, obviously confused.
‘We will all head up,’ Gotrek said. ‘Except Malakai and Ulli. You can stay here and rig the tunnel to blow.’
‘Right ye are,’ Malakai said cheerfully.
Why do I think this is going to end in disaster, thought Felix, as he squelched back up the tunnel, shivering in his sodden clothes?
Felix crawled forward to the lip of the cave mouth. Ulrika crawled alongside him. The two of them had been selected since they had the best eyesight. Max had doused his light spell so that it would not attract attention to them.
The stone was wet and cold under his hands. Felix wished he had something dry to wear. The mist had cleared away; a bright sun beamed cheerfully down. Carefully he poked his head forward and gazed down into the valley. One look told him the worst had happened.
Instead of one army, there were two. On one side of the valley was a horde of orcs and goblins. They were drawn up in crude battle formation. Massive orcs stood in the centre armed with crude scimitars and round, spike-bossed shields. Masses of goblin archers scuttled about between the ranks. Off to one side were some orc riders mounted on huge battle boars. Their grunts and squeals were audible up the valley. A strange device had been set up on the brow of the hill. It resembled the catapults that Felix had used as a boy, only it was large enough to throw a boulder rather than a small stone. Beside it were several oddly attired goblins, wearing pointed spiked helmets, flapping odd bat-winged attachments fixed to their arms. Spider riders scuttled along the brow of the hill. On the back of one was mounted what must be some sort of shaman. He brandished a skull-tipped staff in the air and chanted encouragement to his troops. The greenskin force must be almost a thousand strong, Felix realised. He was glad the Slayers had not simply rushed out to meet it. There were too many greenskins down there for them to overcome.
Facing the orcs across the valley were hundreds of armed men. There were ranks of halberdiers, and rows upon rows of crossbowmen. One or two of the leaders were mounted on horseback. There were some wild highlanders with massive two-handed swords. None of the men were well armoured but they were much better disciplined than the orcs. Even if they were outnumbered they still had a chance. Particularly if they held the high ground, Felix thought, and let the greenskins come at them.
This must be the bandit army of Henrik Richter, Felix realised. What had brought him here? What strange chance had caused these two forces to meet outside the dragon’s cave?
He heard Ulrika gasp. ‘Look there! To the right of the human army,’ she whispered.
Felix instantly saw what she meant. He recognised the figure of Johan Gatz, the minstrel. Felix felt his suspicions had been justified. The man had been a spy for the bandits. They must have followed us. Both armies must have. The orcs probably wanted revenge for the slaughter we wreaked. The men probably came to see if they could hijack the treasure, if we slew the dragon.
But why were they drawn up in battle array now, and what were they waiting for?
Johan Gatz cursed. This was not going according to plan. Henrik had assembled the army and brought it here along the high mountain passes as he had asked. The scouts that always watched for sign of the dragon stirring had seen nothing of it since it had flown back from the north well over a week ago. One of them who had witnessed its arrival had even claimed it looked wounded. That fitted with the story the dwarfs had told him. The same men had seen the dwarfs enter the caves this morning, and they had yet to come out. He wondered if they had actually succeeded in killing the beast. It seemed unlikely – the valley was littered with the bones of those who had tried, but there had been something about that bunch which had compelled him to think they might do it.
Either they were the most convincing braggarts Johan had ever heard, or they were something special. Johan knew himself to be a sound judge of character, and they had convinced him. More than that, the names of Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaeger were not unfamiliar to him. On his travels he had heard tales of a pair answering to their description, and if even a tenth part of those tales were true, they were not people to take lightly. Some of the lads had seen the airship pass over the valleys too, so that had confirmed their story of the Spirit of Grungni. All in all, he had judged it worth taking the chance of bringing the whole gang here to rob them of the treasure if they should manage to kill Skjalandir. Henrik had thought it worth the risk too.
What they had not counted on was the orcs coming up with the same plan, and being there as well. The idea had been to lie low and wait and see whether the dwarfs came out of the caves. That had gone out the window when the greenskins were spotted. The troops had mustered in plain sight. There was too much bad blood between men and orcs for either side to do differently. It was sheerest stupidity and bad luck, Johan thought.
If they had known the orcs were going to do this, they could have let the greenskins attack the Slayers and then ambushed them afterwards. But all they had gotten were reports of orcs shadowing the Slayers en route, and they did that to every caravan they spotted going through the mountains. Who would have guessed they would assemble their whole force? Now they all stood in the open like idiots, neither side willing to back down in front of the other. Johan shuddered to think of what might happen if the dwarfs did not kill the dragon, and it emerged from the cave. Maybe there were enough warriors assembled here to kill the beast. Even if there were, the casualties would be appalling. Johan considered legging it, but there was n
o way he could slip away without being noticed.
What could have gotten the greenskins so stirred up, he wondered?
Ugrek Manflayer glared across at the hated human foes. For the hundredth time he considered ordering his warriors to charge. It would be good to feel human blood flow and human flesh part under his blade. It would be good to break bones and crack skulls. It would be good to kill, he thought. The need to give in to his violent nature was almost overwhelming. Almost.
Ugrek had not risen to be boss of all the orc tribes of the Big Mountains by giving way to his impulses. By orc standards he possessed a great deal of patience and so much cunning that some suspected him of having goblin blood. If anyone still harboured those suspicions they no longer grunted them; he had killed and eaten all those who had muttered such things. He pushed the distracting memories to the back of his mind. He needed to think. There was always the possibility that the shaman’s dreams were wrong, and the dwarfs might not succeed in killing the beast. He knew that if the dragon emerged from its lair, it would not do for his lads and the pinkskins to be rucking. That would make them all easy meat for the monster, and Ugrek had no intention of providing anybody with a meal any time soon.
And if the shaman was right, then the dwarf with the big axe would soon come out. Ever since he had heard Grund’s tales of the slaughter the dwarf had wreaked with that blade, Ugrek had known it must be his. With such a weapon, and the dragon’s treasure, he could forge a horde that would sweep through the human lands like an avalanche. Orcs would muster from across the land to follow him, and kill and loot in his name.
It annoyed him that these humans had got in the way of his destiny. It annoyed him so much that he almost gave the order to attack anyway. Just bad luck that they were here, he thought. Their bad luck. More meat for his troops, he thought. That made him wonder what dragonflesh tasted like. He guessed he would find out soon enough if the shaman’s dreams were true.