Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  Thousands of bows twanged. Thousands of arrows driven by all the power of short Kislevite composite bows and dwarf-made crossbows scythed through the attackers. Screams of agony mingled with shouts of bloodlust. Another volley and hundreds more fell. Officers shouted commands, archers reloaded and fired. Crossbowmen worked the mechanisms of their weapons. Corpses littered the snow, but were crushed to jelly beneath the wheels of the advancing siege towers. The lords of death stalked the battlefield, feasting hungrily on the souls of the slain.

  A hideous stench, a crack of wings opening to slow a fast descent and the rough cawing of raucous voices all warned Felix that the harpies had at last begun their attack. He ducked the sweep of an iron-taloned claw and hacked right through the wrist of his attacker. Spurting black blood, the winged humanoid tumbled backwards away from the wall and fluttered downwards to be impaled in the spike-filled pits below. Felix wiped the ichor from his face and spat, then glanced along the wall.

  Hundreds of the bat-winged humanoids wrestled and clawed at the defenders, distracting the archers and interfering with the work of the siege engines at this critical point in the battle. More and more of them surged overhead and descended into the city to spread fire and alarm. Felix watched with some satisfaction as archers from the streets below picked off a few of them but more and more descended from the blood-red heavens to continue the wicked work.

  Gotrek’s war cry got Felix’s attention. A swipe of the Slayer’s axe slew two of the vile creatures, its starmetal blade seeming to sear their flesh as it passed through it. Snorri pinned one down with his foot while he bashed out its brains with his hammer, all the while keeping the beast’s companions at bay with his whirling axe. Bjorni had hidden the two girls somewhere and now was dealing terrible damage to the attackers with a military pick. Ulli wrestled with another on the blood-slick stone near Felix. The man raced over and with a lunge passed his blade through the harpy’s back.

  Ulli rose to his feet, glaring and spitting blood. ‘I could have taken it,’ he shouted.

  Felix gestured around them. ‘Plenty more where that one came from.’

  Ulli nodded and plunged once more into the fray. A familiar searing gold light blazed along the battlements. Felix recognised that Max’s magic was at work. Powerfully too. Half a dozen winged monsters shrivelled and fell under its impact. Felix looked around to see Max and Ulrika standing side by side, the area around them clear of monsters. He gave them a thumbs-up sign and was answered with nods.

  Suddenly the harpies seemed to have had enough. They rose from the battlements, shrieking defiance, and surged on into the city. At least on this section of the line they had found the defenders too tough for them. Felix looked out at the advancing horde. They had made good use of the distraction to get ever closer to the city walls. Only a few hundred paces separated them from the stonework now.

  He wiped sweat from his face and shouted to one of the water-carriers. His throat felt as dry as the sands of Araby. The boy brought him a waterskin and Felix hastily downed some of its contents. They felt sweet as wine sliding down his throat. He was taking advantage of the water while it lasted. Doubtless in a few hours, if he yet lived, he would be reduced to taking mouthfuls of the snow. He should be so lucky, he told himself.

  A cheer from along the line got his attention. Under a relentless bombardment from the catapults on the walls, one of the great siege engines had ground to a halt and was now beginning to topple. It wobbled for a few moments, like a cart whose front wheels have gone over the edge of a ditch. There was a sound like a metal drum hit with a hammer only a hundred times louder as another massive stone smashed into it. It was too much for the daemonic engine. It heeled over like a ship in a storm and crashed down into the middle of a host of beastmen. Their screams and wails of agony told of hundreds of deaths. There was a mighty explosion, and in an instant the black structure appeared to expand, revealing yellow fires burning inside, like a mystic portal to some hot hell. Massive metal plates, knife-edged, hurled everywhere, decapitating Chaos marauders, cutting through the armour of the black-encased knights, taking an enormous death toll.

  ‘One down, twelve to go,’ Ulli muttered.

  ‘I could show them a bigger tower,’ growled Bjorni, ‘and mine doesn’t come down so fast either.’ No one seemed interested. A company of fresh bowmen raced into position on the battlements near them. Their officer shouted instructions. The men knocked their arrows, drew their strings back to their ears and then let fly. More Chaos worshippers fell.

  ‘We’re slaughtering them,’ crowed Ulli.

  ‘This is the easy part!’ Gotrek shouted back. ‘Just wait till they get to the walls.’

  The younger Slayer’s face fell.

  Good for you, Gotrek Gurnisson, thought Felix ironically. You can always be relied on to raise morale in a tight spot. But if any of the men were discouraged by the dwarf’s pronouncement, they gave no sign. Probably too busy trying to pick new targets, Felix thought and offered up a prayer of thanks to Sigmar for small mercies.

  Couriers raced past, bearing messages for the duke from other towers and other parts of the battlefield. Felix wondered that anybody could make any sense out of this maelstrom of combat but the duke sent all of the messengers away seemingly satisfied with the orders he had given. Felix supposed it was probably just the fact that he looked calm, and in control that did it. The men believed because they wanted to believe.

  The first of the remaining siege towers was only a hundred strides away now. Huge fur-clad barbarians bellowed challenges from its roof, and brandished their weapons obscenely at the defenders. The Kislevites responded with arrow fire. Most of the marauders managed to duck down behind their parapets in time. Their kinsmen tossed those who did not off the top of their machine. No help for the wounded here, thought Felix. Khorne is probably hungry for their souls.

  He strode across to Ulrika and Max. Woman and wizard were covered in gore. Felix had no idea how much of it was their own. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ she replied and looking closely at her Felix could see this was the case. She looked more than fine. She looked exalted, like someone in the throes of a powerful drug. Felix had seen many warriors get that way, had felt the same thing himself on many occasions, felt a touch of it himself now. There was nothing more thrilling than surviving mortal combat. She cast a glance out at the howling sea of Chaos worshippers.

  ‘Bring them on,’ she said and laughed. It was an eerie laugh, with more than a little madness in it. It reminded him of Gotrek in the throes of killing lust. Felix followed her gaze. He could see that many of those howling barbarians out there around the base of the war machines carried long siege ladders.

  ‘They’ll be here soon enough,’ he said.

  ‘Scared, Felix?’ she asked mockingly. He smiled.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  She cocked her head to one side and looked him up and down. ‘You don’t fight like it.’

  ‘I find being terrified gives me an extra incentive to fight well.’

  ‘You are a strange man, Felix Jaeger. No Kislevite warrior would confess to feeling as you do.’

  ‘Perhaps I am just more honest,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’ she shouted, obviously having failed to hear him over the tumult of the battle.

  ‘Look out!’ shouted Max and raised his hands. Golden spheres winked into being around them. Beams of energy speared upwards. Felix looked up in time to see a swooping harpy turn into a blackened, charred husk. It tumbled to the battlements at his feet and split open, revealing reddish meat and whitish bone within. Felix looked away with a grimace. A foul smell of burning flesh clogged his nostrils.

  ‘A useful trick, Max,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been getting a lot of practice recently,’ replied the wizard and turning outwards, directed his ravening beams of coruscating energy at the nearest siege engine.

  Something around that daemonic machine absorbed the power. Felix could
see the air shimmering around it, as if some semi-visible shield were recoiling under the impact. The haze moved away from the point of impact, rippling like water in a pond disturbed by a thrown stone. Max drove his spell harder and the light crept slowly closer to the tip of the tower, touched a howling beastman, and caused his flesh to melt and run. Seconds later the ballista he was manning caught fire.

  Felix could only hope the flames would spread to the rest of the structure. As he watched smoke continued to rise from the top of the tower and the flames leapt ever higher. It seemed that the wood, or whatever else the thing was made from was combustible. Felix watched, awe struck, as gates in the tower’s side, obviously intended to be lowered to let those within assault the walls, were thrown open and men began to leap out, falling to their doom fifty strides below. Felix turned to Max.

  ‘If only you could do that a few more times we might hold them back.’

  The wizard was bent double. He looked pale and sickly like a man convalescing after a long illness. All of the strength had gone out of him. Ulrika stood by his side, supporting him. Felix wrestled with a surge of futile jealousy and went over to see if there was anything he could do to help.

  ‘I should… should not have done that,’ Max gasped, sweat running from his brow. ‘There was something alive imprisoned within the tower, something daemonic, wicked and older than the world. The strain of banishing it nearly killed me. It was just that I felt the protective spells going down, and thought if I tried a little harder I might overcome them. I did, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Felix said, catching the wizard as he slowly keeled over. Hastily he and Ulrika carried Max over and propped his back against the parapet. The wizard looked as if he might pass away at any moment.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ Ulrika asked. She sounded very concerned. Felix checked the wizard’s pulse. It was fast but strong. His brow felt very warm. ‘I think so, but I am neither physician nor wizard. I don’t know how magic can drain you. There’s not a mark on him, and he seems all right…’

  ‘I don’t think he had fully recovered his strength from healing me,’ she said. She sounded guilty. Felix looked up at her and shook his head.

  ‘Nonsense. He was fine when he helped us stop the attack on the grain silos. Don’t fret yourself. We have other things to worry about.’

  Despite his reassuring words, Felix was not so sure he was correct. Max had been using a lot of his energies recently, in combat, in healing, in banishing the ghosts that had attacked them. Perhaps he had overspent his life force and was now about to pay the price. Even as the thoughts crossed his mind, he felt a tugging on his sleeve and looked down to see Max smiling wanly up at him.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he muttered. ‘I just need a few minute’s rest and I’ll be good as new.’

  The wizard did not look that way, but his words seemed to reassure Ulrika. She gave him a radiant smile, and touched his face gently. Felix felt blood rush to his cheeks. Had there been something going on between those two without him knowing? They looked more like lovers at this moment than he and Ulrika did. Get a grip on yourself, he thought. This is not the time nor the place for such thoughts.

  Spells flickered between wall and siege tower. The air crackled as protective magic dampened them out. Clouds of dust rose from the oncoming units. The deadly hiss of arrows filled the air, almost drowned out by the screams of the wounded and the roaring of that onrushing sea of flesh.

  Terrible frenzy filled the Chaos worshippers. The presence of the daemons in their midst obviously goaded them on as nothing else could. Despite the appalling casualties, they came on undaunted. No amount of killing seemed to dent their resolve. Felix knew that he was in for the fight of his life.

  A company of beastmen in advance of the rest had reached the ditch at the foot of the walls. They had come prepared. A massive ladder was lofted, and even before it touched the walls, a goat-headed warrior was on it, climbing with surprising deftness in spite of its hooves. Even as the ladder hit the wall, it was twisted and pushed away. The beastman fell, caught a rung with one powerful hand and then continued his climb. He managed to get half way up the ladder, several of his cloven-hoofed brethren just behind him, when the defenders managed to topple the ladder. Instead of falling straight back it toppled sideways, sending the beastmen to their deaths on the sharpened stakes below.

  The wall shook as the first of the mighty siege towers made contact. Felix leaned out over the battlements to see what was happening. The thing had driven right into the ditch, crushing the stakes beneath its weight. The battering ram in its belly smashed into the walls, sending chips of stone flying. Already a bridge had been lowered on the machine’s top and warriors were starting to emerge from within the machine’s body and pour across it. As Felix watched other Chaos worshippers, mad with battlelust, started to clamber up the side of the machine, using the embossed daemonic faces as handholds. Felix was reminded of ants swarming over a stump as more and more of them began the arduous climb.

  All along the wall other siege towers were making contact, and more and more Chaos worshippers emerged, bellowing the name of Khorne and shouting his praises in their guttural tongue. Felix readied his sword, and looked around for the Slayers. Predictably they were rushing towards the thick of the fighting. Felix glanced at Ulrika who was bent over Max soothing his brow. He felt a surge of jealousy, annoyance, and battle lust.

  ‘Keep an eye on Max,’ he said as he sprinted towards the fray. ‘I will be right back.’

  Even as he ran, he wondered why was he doing this. Was he running to get away from them, or to try and impress the girl with his bravery? He wondered if he would ever know.

  Arek watched his warriors begin to reduce the walls of Praag. In some ways it was going better than he had expected. In some ways it was going worse. He had not expected to lose two of the towers before they even reached the walls. Curse that sorcerer and the siege engineers manning those catapults. On the other hand, the harpies had done an admirable job of distracting the defenders, and judging by the flames rising beyond the outer wall, were even now spreading havoc within the enemy city.

  Arek watched enthralled as the huge siege towers disgorged their freight of warriors onto the wall. Northern tribesmen and snarling beastmen fought alongside each other, filled with a rabid desire to kill. Arek almost envied them at this moment. He had always found it deeply satisfying to triumph over his opponent in the heat of battle. There were times when he suspected that he might almost have enjoyed being one of the berserker followers of Khorne. He had never lost a single combat, and knew he was never likely to, with all the gifts the Great Mutator had heaped upon him. He was all but invincible when it came to a fray which was why none of the other warlords had ever challenged him to duel for leadership of the horde. If it had not been for that accursed vision…

  Lightning flickered along the battlements, clearing away some of his men. Obviously the spell barriers that prevented his wizards casting spells at or through the walls did nothing to stop someone already there. Why was that, he wondered? Was it like being behind a wall or caught in a passage between two barriers? He would have to ask his pet magicians about it when he got the chance. Perhaps before he had them executed for showing insufficient zeal in protecting his troops. They had sworn the towers were totally protected from enemy spells and invulnerable to enemy weapons. Today’s events had proven them wrong on both accounts.

  Still, the machines had worked and looked like they would fulfil their purpose, and that was the main thing. He knew they would have to do it today, all the vast energy so laboriously summoned from the northlands had been expended in the animation of the towers, the summoning of the daemons, and the weaving of the protective spells. He knew they were going to be exhausted for days afterwards.

  That would be the perfect time to round them up and make an example of them, Arek thought.

  Felix fought his way along the battlements. The stone was slippery with blood, and severed entrail
s. Puddles of red stained the snow. He leapt to one side as a dying beastman reached for him. The movement took him to the edge of the parapet on the town side of the wall. He caught sight of red-tiled roofs below him, and buildings blazing in the distance. Men seemed to be fighting with men back there. Panicked townsfolk, he wondered, or more cultists emerging to help their fellows in battle?

  Time enough to worry about that later. If he survived what was going on around him now. The beastman had raised itself on one hand and gathered itself in a crouch. Judging by its wounds it was not far from death. Felix guessed that it intended to take him with it, and he had a fair idea of how. He was proven correct. The beastman sprang, spreading its arms to make a grab for him. Expecting this, Felix crouched and rolled letting the massive creature pass over him, and the battlements, and fall to its doom far below.

  The snow was cold on his hands, and was starting to seep through his tunic where he had been lying in it. The chainmail shirt he wore beneath did nothing to help with the chill. Might get a fever from this, he thought, and then laughed. That would be the least of his worries. He grasped the hilt of his sword, and pushed himself upright, rising to his knees just in time to see another beastman swinging a monstrous spiked mace down on his head.

  He threw himself to one side, bracing himself on one hand while swinging his blade at the creature. The mace passed just to one side of his head. His blow took the thing just behind the knee, drawing blood. The beastman threw back its goat head and bellowed in pain. Felix stabbed upwards, taking it in the groin. The bellow became extremely high-pitched and then tailed off into a piteous whimper. Felix withdrew the blade and rose to his feet, chopping half way through his foe’s neck with another swipe. Its head flopped loose, still attached by tendons. Black blood boiled forth to melt the snow. Felix strode on. Snow had started to fall. Flakes blew into his eyes and partially obscured his sight. The wind seemed to be picking up. Was this more sorcery, he wondered, or just a natural effect of the weather in these chill northern climes?