Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  Ahead of him he could see the Slayers, fighting amid a horde of beastmen and marauders and more than holding their own. Dead and dying foes lay all around them. The Kislevites, heartened by their presence, fought like men possessed. Here at least, it seemed possible to believe, if only for a moment, that victory might be theirs. Another monstrous siege tower crashed into the wall. A smell something like musk, something like perfume wafted into Felix’s nostrils. For a moment, he thought nothing of it, but then his skin started to tingle, and a ticklish sensation started at the back of his throat. He felt all of the killing lust draining out of him, and turned to find the source of this delightful odour.

  All around him, men and beastmen were doing the same, temporarily forgetting their enmity in their desire to find the source of the sweet perfume. Felix saw a massive iron drawbridge crash onto the battlements. Exotic, strangely beautiful, oddly familiar figures leapt forth from the siege tower, and raced into the fray. They looked like shaven-headed women. Despite the chill, they were near naked, wearing black leather tunics that revealed one perfectly formed breast. In place of one hand, they had crab-like claws. In the other hand some held long stabbing swords, some held whips, some held nets. Moving with an eerie grace they glided across the battlements. Wherever they went, men died. Felix recognised them as creatures of Slaanesh, Lord of Unspeakable Pleasures.

  Felix watched one huge Kislevite warrior who had only moments before slaughtered three beastmen stand like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered while one of the beautiful woman things clipped off his head with a claw. Instead of avenging him the man’s comrades calmly waited for death to come to them. Felix watched it all fascinated, and filled with an odd elation. There was something perfectly enthralling about the whole performance: the grace of the females, the way the red blood glistened in perfect droplets on the snow. There was something sensual and deeply arousing about it. He doubted he had ever seen anything quite so attractive as the daemon women. It would be a pleasure to die at their hands. In fact, he could hardly wait. He took a stride towards them, eager to feel death’s embrace.

  Part of him, deeply buried in his psyche, screamed that it was wrong. Those were not women. They were daemons. They were the enemy. Their musk or some other sorcery had him enchanted. Yet there was nothing he could do about it. His feet kept moving as if they belonged to someone else, the sword dangled limply from his fingers and it was all he could do not to let it slip to the ground. A smile was frozen on his face. He could see the same smile written on the lips of other enthralled defenders.

  A beastman aimed a blow at him. He did not want this. It would prevent him embracing the woman-thing of his choice, an enchanting creature with pale white skin and ruby red lips. He ducked the blow and took his assailant’s hand off at the wrist. As it fell backwards, he rammed his sword into its throat. Behind him he could hear the sound of running feet, and the sound of something heavy hacking through flesh like a butcher’s cleaver. Felix sincerely hoped it wasn’t another rival for the favour of his chosen one. He wanted to look back to make sure, but he could not keep his eyes off her. Look at the way her smile revealed those gleaming ivory fangs!

  Something rushed past him, and he almost stabbed it before realising that it was Gotrek. Did the Slayer intend to challenge him for the she-daemon’s favours? He would see about that. Felix aimed a stab at the Slayer’s back but something restrained him. He seemed unable to move his arm. Looking down, he saw a massive hand was locked on his wrist. He tried to struggle but someone immobilised him with the same ease with which he might immobilise a child.

  ‘Snorri thinks that’s far enough,’ said a deep voice from somewhere around the region of his lower back. Felix fought against the steely grip and raved curses as he saw what the cruel Slayer intended. Gotrek moved among the Slaanesh worshippers. Their light weapons could not withstand his axe, which now blazed lantern-bright with an evil red glow. One by one he chopped his way through them. They did not die as human warriors might have. Instead, as they fell their bodies disintegrated into showers of sparks and clouds of vile perfume. Smelling that stink broke the spell, and made Felix realise how close he had come to being slain by its evil enchantment. All around him other human warriors appeared to realise the same. They shook themselves, looked at their foes, and took up the fray once more.

  Gotrek slew the last of the she-daemons, and leaping to the battlement struck at the lowered drawbridge with his axe. The powerful enchantment on the weapon, powerful enough to banish even the greatest of daemons, caused far more destruction on the siege tower than even the strength of Gotrek’s blow would seem to warrant. Sparks blazed on the black metal where he struck, and instead of disappearing, flickered and grew larger, writhing around the hell-metal like tiny chains of blood-red lightning. In an instant they flickered outwards from the point of impact, until they covered the whole of the mighty siege tower in a display of dazzling pyrotechnics that hurt the eye.

  Felix watched in amazement. The contact with Gotrek’s mighty weapon had in some way disrupted the spell animating the siege machine, freeing the imprisoned daemonic energy. A smell like ozone mingled with brimstone filled the air, clearing away the stench of the slain daemonettes. Even Gotrek appeared stunned by the effect of his action. He stood motionless for a second watching the strange halo of lightning engulf the daemon tower. From within came screams and the stink of burning flesh and fur. Snowflakes sizzled into nothingness where they touched the light. Then the tower simply fell apart, its components raining to the ground below.

  Felix wished Max Schreiber were here now to tell him what had happened. The wizard would know about such things for certain. All Felix could do was guess. He reckoned that the tower had been at least partially constructed with sorcery, and held together by magical energies. Gotrek’s blade had disrupted the spell binding its components together, and thus ensured its destruction.

  The Slayer shook his head, as if to clear his sight, and then, appearing to realise what he had done, let out a crazed laugh. He raced along the battlements, seeking another one of the towers. Felix swiftly moved to follow. He knew that at all costs the Slayer must be kept alive.

  If anything could turn the tide of the battle it was his axe.

  Max Schreiber stared in wonderment as the spell holding the tower together unravelled. To his mage’s senses, even partially blinded as they were by the storm of dark magical energy raging about him, it was obvious what was going on. Gotrek’s blade had been forged to be the bane of daemons. Max knew this for a certainty. Those towers contained and were animated by the imprisoned essence of daemons from the darkest hells. Max knew as much from his contact with the tower earlier when he had unwoven the spell binding the evil thing.

  As the axe banished the daemons from the mortal plane, the vessel holding them fell apart, no longer bound together by their presence. Max watched in awe as the Slayers made their way along the battlements and in quick succession Gotrek reduced first one, then two, then three of the monstrous engines to flinders. It was an amazing thing to watch. It seemed that in some ways the gods themselves had decided to aid the defenders after all, by allowing the presence of such a potent weapon, and such a powerful wielder. Was this the destiny the Slayer had been spared for so long to meet? Max did not know.

  Summoning the last of his magical energies he freed his senses from his body, allowing sight and mage vision to roam free along the walls and observe the struggle. Everywhere he looked he could see slaughter. Men and beastmen, Chaos warrior and human defender were locked in brutal combat. Along the wall, Gotrek and Felix and the other Slayers roamed like angry gods, seemingly killing at will.

  Even as he watched though, he became certain that this would not be enough. Gotrek could not be everywhere, and the towers had already done their wicked work. At many points along the wall Chaos warriors, beastmen and vile tribesmen were present, holding small sections long enough for more and more of their brethren to swarm up ladders, and haul more normal engines i
nto place. Despite the Slayers’ efforts it looked as if the walls would be over-run.

  But the attack had cost the horde dearly. Horns sounded from around them. Max sent his vision looking for the source and saw reinforcements sweeping up from the town to the walls. Fresh warriors hurled themselves into the fray, hacking at their hideous foes, chopping them down. One by one the beachheads established by the Chaos worshippers were overwhelmed, and the wall was cleared, stride by painful stride.

  Max almost believed that they might be able to win this battle, and hold the wall for another day, but even as he thought this, he sensed sorcerous power being unleashed at a different section of the wall. Quickly he sent his spirit soaring in search of the disturbance. His vision ran around the perimeter, his magic still imprisoned by the binding spells along the outer and inner walls. As it did so, he saw what was going on.

  At another section of the wall, far distant from where the Slayers were, more of the daemonic towers attacked. Max saw that they had reduced one section of the stonework to rubble. The protective spells in this spot had already unravelled allowing Max to shift his point of view to outside the confining perimeter. His gaze flickered over the horde of Chaos warriors and beastmen piling into the city through the gap. As he watched the largest of the towers used its ram to break through the mighty gateway. It would only be a matter of moments before the iron-clad wooden beams gave way completely. Max saw the wood splinter and the metal buckle and then the whole gate flew apart, letting the screaming horde into the city.

  Max looked up at Ulrika. Concern was written on her face. ‘Go and tell the duke that the East Gate has fallen,’ he said. ‘The hordes of Chaos are within the city.’

  TWELVE

  The horns sounded loudly. The Kislevite troops on the wall began to panic. Felix knew what that signal meant: the enemy were within the walls. All the hard fighting they had done here had been for nothing. He gritted his teeth and spat into the snow. Somewhere, somehow, he had got blood in his mouth. Maybe he had bitten his cheek or tongue. Maybe one of his teeth was coming loose. He had been struck glancing blows a few times in the combat, and he bled from a dozen nicks on his arms, legs and face. He was tired, and filled with fear, and the sight of the hardened defenders around him starting to panic did nothing to reduce his own trepidation. He looked around to see how the Slayers were doing.

  Gotrek did not look well. He swayed wearily on his feet and his features were pale. Felix had not seen him look quite this bad since after the battle at Karag Dum. It was apparent that whatever power the axe had, using it drained the Slayer of a great deal of his energy. He caught Felix’s sympathetic glance and growled, ‘I am not dead yet, manling.’

  It looked only a matter of time though. Even a warrior as fearsome as Gotrek could not fight for long in the condition he was in. The Chaos warriors so recently cleared from the walls were returning with renewed vigour, casting ladders up, and pushing more conventional siege towers into position.

  Snorri, Bjorni and Ulli weren’t in much better condition. All three looked as if they had been bathed in a pool of blood. Bjorni had a flap of skin loose on the side of his face which gaped open to reveal his teeth. Snorri’s tattoos were near invisible against a dark background of bruises. Ulli looked as if he wanted to either burst into tears or berserk rage and was not quite sure which. All of the Slayers looked determined though, and it was obvious to Felix that they intended to make a last stand here on the walls against the oncoming horde. It would probably prove suicidal but that, after all, was their avowed aim in life.

  Madness, Felix thought, simple madness. For a brief moment back there during the fighting, he had felt something like hope. The power of Gotrek’s axe against the daemon towers, and the way the dwarfs had helped rally the weary defenders had almost made him believe victory was possible. A hopeless dream he could see now, watching the duke bellowing orders and getting his own guard to hold firm to cover the retreat of the rest of his men from the wall. It was only due to his presence of mind that things were not turning into a fully-fledged rout.

  Ulrika and Max were already moving down the stairs, and he waved to them as they went. The woman supported the tired sorcerer, and Felix could not grudge him that. Max had earned a chance at life this day, and Ulrika owed him for saving hers. He knew that she would pay that debt whatever it took. He tried not to think jealous thoughts of any other reasons she might have. This was not the time.

  Seeing the duke’s banner still fluttering along the walls, some of the massive siege engines had started firing again, obviously aiming at the one proud banner still fluttering defiantly in their faces, oblivious to the peril in which they placed their own warriors. Felix ducked involuntarily as a huge stone went hurtling past overhead to crash onto the tenements behind them.

  ‘Missed!’ cackled Snorri.

  ‘Not even close,’ muttered Ulli without much conviction.

  Gotrek limped back over in the general direction of the wall, and began to bellow challenges at the beastmen.

  Don’t do that, you idiot, thought Felix, but could not quite muster the courage to say it aloud. The duke’s men were covering the stairway down from the tower now. The duke himself shouted, ‘Come on! There is still time to go! We need every warrior now to help defend the city!’

  His plea almost moved the dwarfs. He could see that it struck a chord within them. They knew his words were true. Ulli scuffed his feet and began to move in the direction of the stairwell. Bjorni shook his head. Snorri shrugged and rushed along the wall to send another ladder toppling backwards with one heave of his enormous shoulders. Gotrek did not even look back. Ulli shamefacedly stood his ground as if undecided as to whether to stay or go.

  ‘Come on, Jaeger, we need you too!’ shouted the duke. He obviously understood what was going on with the Slayers, and knew they were beyond either his pleadings or his commands. Felix looked at the dwarfs once more.

  They are not going to come, he thought. This is it. The end of the road. They are going to wait here, fight the beastmen as they come over the walls, and die in the stupidly heroic manner they wanted to. Idiots. And he knew, to his own fury, that their madness had infected him. He was not going to move either. He had sworn an oath to record Gotrek’s doom, and he fully intended to do it, if he had to stand in the doorway there and wait until the wall was seething with Chaos warriors. Only then would he see about trying to make his own escape, if that were possible. He looked at the duke and said, ‘Go on! I’ll catch up!’

  The duke gave him a wan smile and ordered his troops to go. In moments the wall was clear. It seemed strangely quiet. Felix looked at the four dwarfs and realised that at this instant he was probably the only human being on the walls of Praag. He wondered how long it would take for the beastmen and the tribesmen to start clambering up the ladders; surely not long now.

  What were they waiting for? Why did he have this sense of imminent danger? He glanced all around and saw nothing, then out of the corner of his eye was aware of something massive flashing through the air towards them. No, not at them, at the space the duke and his men had so recently left. One of the trebuchet engineers had finally got the range.

  He flinched as the enormous stone came tumbling down towards them. It smashed into the stonework not a dozen feet from Gotrek and sent chunks of smashed masonry and clouds of snow flying through the air. When the wrack had cleared, Felix saw the Slayer was down, a pool of blood marking the snow around his head. His axe had slipped from his nerveless fingers. He glanced at the other Slayers and saw that they were just as appalled as he was. Perhaps they had all shared some secret belief in Gotrek’s invincibility. He could see that they were shaken.

  Damn, he thought, of all the incredibly stupid and utterly unworthy ways to die, that must take the prize.

  Grey Seer Thanquol glared at the red sky. Up ahead of him, not too far away, he sensed the unleashing of enormous magical energies. Whatever power had been drawn down from the Chaos Wastes was being discha
rged now, at an incredible rate. He tugged some of it down to him, determined not to let all of it get away, and then used the energy to cast his awareness ahead of the army. Never had it been so easy. It was almost as if his soul was being swept along by the currents of energy, towards the vortex into which it had been sucked.

  Thanquol was amazed and appalled by what he witnessed. He saw the mighty Chaos army throw itself at the walls of Praag. He saw enormous towers full of pent-up daemonic energy rumble forward. He saw the mass of warriors around their wheels. Had he been occupying his physical body at that moment, he would have squirted the musk of fear. He had always thought the assembled hordes of skavendom must surely be the most numerous army in the world but now he was not so sure. The Chaos horde had grown since he had encountered it thundering across the tundra of northern Kislev and it had been mighty then.

  He had wanted to send his spirit soaring over the city to investigate what was going on inside, but as soon as it neared the walls, he found himself repelled painfully by some mysterious force. Protective enchantments, for sure. Perhaps just as well. It might be best to send his spirit soaring high, out of the range of possible detection by the mages he sensed present below. Two of them were of such power as to give even Grey Seer Thanquol pause. Never in his life, not even in the hall of the Council of Thirteen, had he encountered such auras of power. It was quite possible, he was forced to admit, that those two beings down there were the most powerful magicians in the world, himself not excluded. It was a terrifying thought. More terrifying yet was that he recognised them. They were the albino twins he had met in the camp of Arek Daemonclaw.

  He tried to console himself with the thought that it was only because they were filled with the energy they had drawn down from the daemon lands of the north that they were his superiors in magic, but somehow the thought did not reassure him. It was still appalling to contemplate the fact that there existed two beings capable of acting as vessels for such god-like power. Thanquol felt sure that not even he could duplicate the feat. Almost he considered returning to his fleshly shell then and there to avoid even the possibility of their notice. But something kept him from doing so.