Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  He turned to Ulrika. They had grown closer in the past few days. She was grateful to him for saving her life, but he sensed something more. He pushed the thought away, knowing it was more likely his own hope speaking than anything real. He gave a sour smile, thinking it was easier for men to comprehend the mysteries of potent magic than see into the human heart.

  ‘Why do you smile?’ Ulrika asked pleasantly.

  ‘You most likely don’t want to know,’ Max replied. He was embarrassed. Most of his life had been spent in study, and in advising folk on how to protect themselves against evil magic. It was not something that had prepared him for dealing with a woman like Ulrika.

  ‘I would not have asked if I had not wished to know.’

  Max scratched his lengthening beard to cover his embarrassment. Sometimes she was disconcertingly literal minded.

  ‘I… I am happy to be here with you,’ he ventured. ‘Even under such circumstances as this.’

  It was her turn to fall silent. She glanced away, looking over the glittering rooftops of Praag, instead of out at the gathering Chaos horde. By the light of the setting sun, seen from the height of the wall, it was magical: a wide expanse of red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls from which rose bell-towers, onion domes, and the gilded spires of the temples. Even the frosting of snow contributed to the beauty. Max walked over to her and laid his hand on her fur-covered shoulder. She did not flinch but she did not look at him either. ‘Are you happy?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I am confused.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About lots of things.’

  ‘About you and Felix?’

  ‘Yes. Among other things.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  She slipped out of his grasp, and walked over to the edge of the battlements once more. She leaned forward, putting her weight on the parapet, and glanced out towards their enemy. The massive war machines, high as towers, carved like statues, shimmered in the gloom. Along their sides eerie red runes were springing to life, their balefires reflecting in the snow beneath them. They drew the eye naturally, such was their power. They seemed liked statues of evil gods. The small figures moving around their bases seemed more like insects than men.

  ‘Felix told me that in the Wastes there are huge statues of the Lords of Chaos,’ she said. ‘They must resemble those machines, don’t you think?’

  ‘It is possible,’ he said, noncommittally, a little hurt that she had avoided his question. ‘But I think what he saw really were statues. Those things are machines of metal and sorcery.’

  ‘Sorcery?’

  ‘Daemons are being bound into them, to give them power. Soon, I fear they will spring to life.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then they will roll over these walls and crush everything in their path.’

  ‘Is there nothing we can do?’

  ‘We can pray.’

  ‘Recognise him?’ asked Bjorni, gesturing to the unconscious man. To his surprise, Felix did. He knew he had seen him somewhere before, he just could not recall where. The large bruise on his face might have something to do with that.

  ‘He is somewhat familiar,’ Felix said, leaning over and clasping the man’s chin, then moving his face from side to side to get a better view. The man’s hair was long and had flopped down into his face. His clothes were those of a nobleman, the fabric good, and the cut expensive. Felix had seen enough in his father’s storehouses to know. He looked very out of place lying here on the floor of this seedy room in the Red Rose.

  ‘What sort of company have you been keeping, young Felix?’ Bjorni asked with a leer. He put his heavily muscled arm around the shivering figure of the girl, Sasha, and with surprising gentleness wiped away the tears from her face. Felix looked at the half-naked Slayer, and the racks of whips and chains on the walls, and wondered if what he suspected about Bjorni and Sasha could possibly be true.

  ‘Nasty company,’ Gotrek said, leaning over and picking up the dagger that had fallen near the man’s hands. He sniffed it then thrust the blade in Felix’s general direction. Felix could see a greenish paste crusting the sharpened steel.

  ‘I am willing to bet that is the same poison that was on Sergei and Olaf’s blades,’ he said.

  ‘I think that is a bet you would win,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘What happened here?’ Felix asked, looking at Bjorni and then at Sasha. They both were in a state of considerable undress. The girl’s bodice had been hastily pinned closed. She wore only the scantiest of night-shirts. Bjorni was clad only in his britches. His boots and weapons lay near the bed.

  ‘Well, I thought maybe you hadn’t gone about your questioning the right way, young Felix, so I thought I would… interrogate Sasha here in my own way.’

  ‘That would be what the leather cords and the chains were for then,’ said Felix, gesturing to the pile of mechanisms near the bed.

  Bjorni looked up at the ceiling and then nodded. ‘Something like that. Anyway just as we were getting down to business there was a disturbance outside the door and some men barged in. They were armed, and they obviously meant to do harm.’

  ‘You stopped them?’

  ‘I threw a sheet over a pair of them, and then head-butted another in the nadgers,’ said Bjorni with some satisfaction. ‘They obviously weren’t expecting much resistance, and I think they panicked when they heard Snorri and Ulli coming. So they started to run. I brained this one with the lampstand.’

  ‘Funny thing is, none of the bouncers came to investigate the noise, and you could hear the commotion all the way down the corridor,’ said Ulli. His face was red and he looked very embarrassed for some reason.

  ‘They were paid off, obviously,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘Such would be my guess,’ Felix added. ‘Did you know any of these men?’ he asked the girl.

  ‘They weren’t customers here,’ she said, ‘if that’s what you mean.’

  Felix shrugged and looked at the unconscious man once more, thinking it was about time they woke him up. The only question was whether to hand him over to the authorities or leave him to the tender mercies of the Slayers. Under the circumstances, he felt like they didn’t have much choice. He would much rather they did this interrogation themselves. He was not at all sure of what might happen if they handed this would-be killer over to the guards.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, Felix suddenly realised where he had seen this man before. On the first day of the siege, at the Gate of Gargoyles, he had been one of the young men riding with the duke’s brother, Villem. Wonderful, thought Felix, wondering exactly how far this corruption reached. Just then the man groaned and began to stir.

  He looked up and turned pale as he glanced into the nastily grinning faces of the Slayers surrounding him. ‘Tell me,’ said Felix. ‘Does Villem know you’re here?’

  The man’s response surprised Felix. ‘He’ll kill me if he finds out.’

  ‘It’s us you should worry about,’ Gotrek said, raising his axe menacingly.

  Halek paced backwards and forwards across the thick Arabyan carpets of his chambers. All around him, he could hear the sounds of the palace. He strode to the window, pulled the thick brocade hanging aside and glanced out through the heavy leaded glass. A rim of snow clutched the window frame. Far below he could see clean across the Square of Heroes to the Temple of Ulric. Thinking about what happened to heretics in that place, if they were caught, made him more nervous still. Being handed over to the tender mercies of the Templars of Ulric was not a prospect to make any man cheerful.

  He cursed Jan Pavelovich bitterly. If ever you find your way back into my hands I will make you pay for this, you blundering fool. He turned away from the window, and strode over to his bookshelves, took down the copy of the Deed of Magnus he had pored over as a boy, and told himself to remain calm. It need not have been Jan Pavelovich’s fault. Who could have told that one of those accursed Slayers would have been present during
the attack, and could have fought off four armed men equipped only with improvised weapons?

  No. These things happened. Sometimes the fates were unkind, or maybe the old gods of Kislev conspired to undo his work. It was no use blaming Jan Pavelovich. The youth had served loyally and well for many seasons, ever since Halek had inducted him into the cult of the Changer of Ways. He was dedicated to the Great Cause. It was not his fault he had been left behind when the others fled. It was much more likely the fault of those other fools, the ones who had left him to the Slayer.

  The words on the page were a blur. This was getting him nowhere. It did not matter who was to blame. The damage was done. The only question was how much Jan Pavelovich had told them. Halek cursed the day he had ever been so foolish as to let the young man know his true identity. Perhaps it would not matter so much. It would only be the word of Jan and his accusers against Halek’s own. He was a man of great influence at court. He could most likely face down any accusations.

  Unless the Templars were called in. Or someone demanded to examine him for the stigmata of Chaos. Or perhaps one of those wizards, like Max Schreiber for instance, might be able to incriminate him with a spell. That would not be good. What could he do? The Great Plan was so near completion. Soon the city would fall. If only he could last until then he would be certain of his reward. He could flee the palace and find a hiding place among his brethren until the great day dawned.

  Or could he? He had failed to see to the deaths of Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaeger. Perhaps the hidden masters of the cult would punish him for that. After all, they had their reasons for wanting those two dead and he had not managed it. And trusting himself to the tender mercies of the likes of Victor or Damien was not a prospect he enjoyed either. They might find it all too tempting to do away with a potential rival under such circumstances.

  And then there was his own plan to contribute to the ultimate victory. At the height of the coming attack he had fully intended to open one of the postern gates to the Chaos horde. He had the authority and the means to do so. It was an act that would win him great favour in the eyes of Tzeentch. Did he really want to give that up? Did he have any choice?

  Things did not seem quite as rosey as they had when he arose from his bed this morning. Don’t panic, he told himself. Think; you will find a solution.

  Suddenly a way to redeem himself struck him. It was a solution so simple, and yet so perfect, he was surprised he had not dared implement it before. He shook his head. He knew why.

  This was a throw of the dice by a desperate man, and he had never been this desperate before. And he had never really wanted to kill his own brother.

  Felix looked down at the bruised and battered form of the heretic. In the end, under the less than gentle ministrations of Bjorni, he had told them all. Now he lay there, pale as a sheet, watching them with eyes filled with horror and pain.

  Felix looked at the Slayers. He had no idea if they were as appalled by what they had found out as he was. They gave no sign of it on their faces. Gotrek looked grim. Bjorni looked satisfied. Snorri looked baffled. Ulli looked as queasy as Felix felt. His suspicions had been confirmed, if this was not all some cunning lie by the cultist. There was a traitor in the palace, and his rank was higher even than Felix’s worst fears would have put him. Who would have thought the duke’s own brother would stoop to such a thing? And why?

  He looked down at the whimpering young nobleman, Jan Pavelovich, by name. He doubted the youth was in any condition to have made up such a daring lie. He simply did not look capable of it. On the other hand who knew what the cultists of Tzeentch were capable of? Perhaps he was able to resist a beating at the hands of a demented Slayer, even if he did not look it. Felix shuddered. The cult of the Changer of the Ways had managed to infiltrate even the highest levels of Kislevite society. They stood poised to reap the spoils of the great horde’s victory, or so Jan Pavelovich had claimed. And they wanted him and Gotrek dead.

  Why, Felix wondered? What had they ever done to aggravate the secret cult? Well, aside from foiling their scheme at the granary, and killing a few of their assassins. Felix wondered why he had ever bothered agreeing to accompany the Slayer on his quest.

  He knew this was an unworthy thought, that he should be proud that the enemies of mankind considered him worthy of being singled out along with the Slayer as a dangerous foe. He simply did not feel that way. He wondered what would happen when the horde broke into the city. Nothing pleasant, that was for sure. He pushed the thought aside and returned to the consideration of what they were to do.

  Go to the palace and confront Villem? He doubted they would last very long if they did. After all, it was the word of this self-confessed heretic against that of the heir to the duchy. Who would believe them without additional proof? Maybe they could try something else – enter the palace and kill Villem. He could not quite bring himself to do that either. What if they were wrong? Perhaps the Slayers were capable of executing a man who might be innocent, but he was not. Where did that leave them then?

  Felix felt well out of his depth. He needed advice from someone who knew more about mystical matters. Perhaps Max would be able to cast a spell that would compel the youth to speak the truth. And perhaps not. And even if he did, how could they be sure? The cultists obviously had magical ways of avoiding detection and baffling such spells. Max had said as much himself. Felix rose and stretched himself to his full height. He glanced over at the Slayer.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I think we should kill this traitorous scum.’ The other Slayers nodded agreement. A puddle of wetness marked the carpet around Jan Pavelovich’s legs.

  ‘We need him alive. We need him to tell his story to the duke.’

  ‘Why should the duke believe him?’ Felix shrugged. Despite his appearance Gotrek was far from stupid and his thoughts on the matter were obviously close to Felix’s own.

  ‘We could get Max to ensorcel him.’ The Slayer shrugged.

  ‘It might work. I know nothing of sorcery except that I don’t like most of it.’

  ‘Snorri agrees,’ said Snorri. Another thought struck Felix. The would-be assassins must have brought word of their failure to their master by now. Doubtless he was cooking up some nasty surprise for them. Felix knew they’d better act swiftly but could not think of any brilliant plan. Lacking anything better he said: ‘Snorri, Bjorni, stay here and make sure our friend doesn’t go anywhere. Ulli, go find Max and tell him what’s going on. See if there is anything he can do. Gotrek and I are going to the palace.’

  Felix headed for the door. As he opened it he turned, and said: ‘And don’t kill him. We need him alive.’

  He could have sworn a look of disappointment passed across Bjorni’s face.

  Max Schreiber paced through the streets towards the White Boar, Ulrika by his side. The air was crisp and cold. His breath came forth in plumes like smoke from the nostrils of a dragon. His feet were chilled through his boots but he was not troubled. He knew that people were staring at them but he did not care. He was simply happy that they were together on what might well prove to be the last day of their lives. Ulrika stopped to look at a street stall where a man was sharpening blades. Sparks flew from the grindstone as he pressed a dagger to it. The high-pitched shriek of metal against stone filled the air. Max was suddenly reminded of the calls of the ghosts as they seeped from the stones of Praag and fought back a shiver. In a lifetime filled with dealing with what most people called the supernatural, he had seen little to rival that spectacle for strangeness and terror. As long as you did not count the army sitting in the snow beyond Praag. He did not doubt that come dawn, they would see powers unleashed that would be greater than anyone living had witnessed. The slow build-up of energies was as noticeable to his mage senses as the tension before a storm would be to a normal man. Even so, he found it hard to be too unhappy. He had spent most of the day with Ulrika and the natural magic of her presence made him happy. It was something to be gra
teful for. Even in the shadow of death and terror there were simple pleasures to be found.

  A squad of troops, local citizens drafted into the militia by the look of them, hurried past, their faces pale with strain. They were frightened boys and older men for the most part. The professionals were already on the wall confronting the enemy. A few cast envious looks at him, and Max was not sure whether it was because Ulrika was with him, or because he was a wizard, or simply because he did not have to march towards the battle yet. Maybe it was a little of all three.

  Max glanced around and saw a familiar figure moving towards him out of the crowd. It was the fresh-faced young Slayer, Ulli. Ulli just as obviously recognised him, and came ploughing through the mass of people. Something about his expression told Max that the idyll was over. His strong arm grabbed Max’s wrist.

  ‘Felix says you’ve got to come immediately. We have caught a traitor!’ bellowed Ulli. His loud voice made dozens of folk turn to look. Max gave Ulli a hard glare. This was not the sort of thing you wanted to go shouting in a street full of scared people. It could all too easily lead to a riot or a lynch mob. Max glanced around to see that Ulrika had noticed what was going on, and indicated that she should follow. He prayed that no one in the crowd would decide to investigate the truth of the Slayer’s words. Felix could have picked a more tactful messenger, thought Max, then realised that he probably only had the Slayers to pick from. None of them was a good choice.

  ‘Lead on,’ said Max. ‘Tell me what is going on, and try not to shout.’

  ‘Do you have a plan, manling, or are you just making this up as you go along?’ asked Gotrek Gurnisson as they raced across the Square of Heroes towards the citadel.

  ‘The latter,’ Felix said. He was breathing easily. What was a fast run for the Slayer was but a trot for him.

  ‘Good. I would hate to think we were about to do anything sensible.’

  ‘It would probably be a good idea if you don’t attack Villem as soon as we see him. He may be innocent after all.’