by Warhammer
It was evident to his keen mage senses that the spells they were weaving were so complex and powerful that all of their attention must go in to maintaining them. Thanquol swept his gaze over the battlefield and counted the number of daemons that were manifesting. Astonishing. He would not have believed it was possible so far south of the Wastes. Apparently he was wrong. Sheer terror gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Here was a threat to all skavendom, and perhaps even the wellbeing and future plans of Grey Seer Thanquol himself. At all costs something must be done about it. Preferably not by him, however.
He observed the mighty assault begin, and sheer skaven curiosity kept him watching. It seemed impossible to him that the humans on the wall did not immediately turn tail and flee at the first sight of the mighty war engines and the horde of men, daemons and monsters surrounding them. Then again, he had always thought there was no end to the witless folly of the hairless apes. He watched with even greater astonishment as the humans managed to slow down and destroy one of the massive daemonic engines with catapult fire and then was even more amazed to see another destroyed by a spell of unbinding. What was even more disturbing was that Thanquol recognised the magical signature of the mage who had done it. He had fought with that wizard on two occasions at the horse-soldiers’ burrow. It appeared his power had grown since then though. How was it possible, what was his secret? Thanquol sent his spirit-self soaring even higher. There was another individual to be avoided at all costs.
Thanquol contented himself with a bird’s eye view of the main action. From just beneath the clouds it was possible for him to grasp the wide sweep of the Chaos army’s strategy. Most of the Chaos force was concentrated for a frontal assault on the gargoyle-encrusted northern gate, but a significant fraction of the numbers assaulted the eastern and western gates. Such were the numbers of the horde that it was possible for it to make these attacks in a great sweeping crescent, and still outnumber the defenders at any point. Mass attack tactics worthy of any skaven army, Thanquol thought.
He watched the man-things die like ants below him. It did not move him in any way. He was a skaven, and the deaths of lesser races meant nothing to him. To tell the truth, the deaths of most skaven meant nothing either. The only emotion he felt about death was a sense of triumph when it happened to some sworn enemy of his. The battle raged for long minutes. Siege engines exchanged shots. Arrows darkened the sky. The daemons entered the fray. Thanquol watched astonished as something unexpected occurred.
Many daemons died. One of the great siege towers toppled, the spells binding it unravelling. Now what could have caused that, the grey seer wondered? Some magic of awesome power.
He dropped his point of view towards the wall to get a closer look. He was in no way surprised to see the accursed Gotrek Gurnisson standing at the centre of the mystical conflagration, that terrible axe burning with energy in his hands. Hatred and fear warred within Thanquol. He told himself that it was impossible for the slow-witted dwarf to see him, and maintained a sensible distance from the action.
The Slayer and his companions, more dwarfs and that wicked human Felix Jaeger, raced along the walls, bringing destruction to more of the siege towers. Thanquol watched in astonishment as that evil axe did its work. He could see the runespells laid on it quite clearly now. He had always known it was a potent weapon, but he had never guessed quite how powerful. Blazing within that starmetal blade was a power quite the equal of that wielded by those sorcerers back there amid the Chaos horde, greater even perhaps. A seer trained as Thanquol was had no trouble seeing that these two opposing powers could not possibly have come to the same place at the same time by accident. He guessed that they were all in some way counters in the game played by the gods. At this moment, he felt only gladness that his physical body was many leagues away.
A disturbance at the eastern gate drew his attention; he cast his mind swiftly in that direction in time to witness the fall of the gate. It looked like despite all the resistance put up by the human defenders the city was doomed to fall after all. Thanquol watched with a certain malicious pleasure as the beastmen and barbarian tribesmen poured through the gap in the wall and charged into the city.
Already part of him wondered if there was any way to turn this to his advantage. Perhaps he could come upon the Chaos horde after it had taken the city. Not while it was there in force, of course. That would be suicide. But perhaps the horde would move on, leaving only a garrison. That would be the time for a swift, certain, strike in the true skaven manner. Yes. Yes. He could organise that.
Swiftly he sent his awareness flashing back to the area where Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaeger were. With any luck they would be caught up in the rout and chopped down. He prayed to the Horned Rat that this would be the case. He watched as the humans abandoned the city’s outer walls and only the foolish Slayers, and Felix Jaeger remained. This was getting better and better.
He saw the enormous stone, trebuchet-cast, tumbling headlong down onto the walls. He watched the explosion of flying masonry strike down Gotrek Gurnisson, and saw the Slayer slump forward into the snow. His whole soul exulted in an ecstasy of triumph. The Horned Rat had answered his prayers. He had seen with his own mage senses the fall of his most hated enemy.
It seemed certain that if he only waited a little while longer, he would witness the death of the loathsome Jaeger as well. Today was turning out to be one of the best of his life.
Arek saw the Slayer fall to the huge trebuchet stone. He kept watching until he was certain that Gotrek Gurnisson would not rise again. Long moments passed and he felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. There was no way the vision the twins had shown him could be true. It was merely part of some cruel plot on their part. He could have shouted aloud with relief. He had not realised how much the vision had oppressed him until this moment. Now, he was himself once more. Now he could ride into battle like the conquering hero he was.
Ivan Petrovich Straghov touched his heels to the flanks of his horse. They moved wearily through the snow. It had been a long, hard ride under difficult conditions, and only the fact that the muster had driven a herd of remounts with it, had enabled them to make such good time towards Praag. Ivan studied the sky. Things did not look good. The clouds were a hideous red. Ivan had seen skies like that before, over the peaks that separated northern Kislev and the Troll Country from the Chaos Wastes, but he had never thought to see anything like it so far south, deep within his native land. Perhaps the seers were right, perhaps the end of the world was coming. He turned to the tzarina and said, ‘I like this not. Such a sky is not a good sign. It is as if the Wastes themselves are moving southwards.’
The tzarina looked at him with her pale blue eyes. ‘Such things have happened before, old friend. In the time of Magnus and Alexander, when last that fatal moon shimmered in the daylight sky.’
Ivan forced a smile. ‘Such words do nothing to reassure me, highness.’
The tzarina shrugged. She rode better than most men, and her mount showed no sign of tiredness. Sorcery, he thought, but in her he could not resent it. Hers was the magic of winter and the old gods of Kislev. It had not the taint of Chaos about it. ‘If anything, it is worse than you would think. Potent magic is at work ahead of us.’
‘You think the horde expects us then?’
‘I am certain of it, old friend, but I doubt those dire enchantments are intended to welcome us. I think they are directed at the walls of Praag, and the warriors who defend it.’
‘My daughter is there,’ Ivan said. ‘And many of my friends.’
‘Pray for her, and pray for them, my friend. I fear we will arrive in time only to avenge them, and even that might be beyond our strength.’
Felix looked at the lifeless form of the Slayer. Part of him did not want to believe this was happening. Part of him could not believe it. The Slayer was invincible, and, despite the nature of his self-set quest, indestructible. It was impossible for Gotrek Gurnisson to be dead. Still, Felix doubted that anything c
ould have survived being hit on the head by such a large piece of rock. Any human would have died instantly.
He bent forward and checked the Slayer’s pulse, just to be certain. A wave of relief flooded through him. Gotrek’s heart still beat, and beat strongly. There was something to be thankful for.
‘He’s alive,’ Felix said. Smiles lit the faces of the dwarfs to be swiftly replaced by their usual sombre expressions.
‘What do you want Snorri to do, young Felix?’ asked Snorri Nosebiter.
‘Perhaps give me a hand to move him from here.’
‘What good would that do?’ Bjorni asked. ‘We have our own dooms to find here, Felix Jaeger.’
‘Yes, what good would it do?’ asked Ulli. He sounded like he hoped Felix could give him some good reason to get away. Felix looked at them in disbelief. Here they were debating while the beastmen clambered over the walls. He racked his mind for some reason that might cause these stubborn idiots to aid him.
‘Well, for one thing, we might prevent his axe falling into the hands of the Chaos gods. Surely all of you can see that it is special. Perhaps even the key to victory here.’
Slowly, Bjorni and Ulli nodded. They looked as if they were thinking about it. ‘And if he lives, you will surely have helped him greatly. This is not a doom worthy of the Slayer of the Great Bloodthirster, of the hero of Karag Dum.’
‘Snorri thinks you have a point there, young Felix,’ said Snorri. ‘Plus he still owes Snorri for the beer Snorri bought last night.’
‘Well, there you go then,’ Felix said. ‘What are you waiting for?’
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the great Chaos horde. ‘After all, you can always return to seek your doom later. And, let’s face it, there is every possibility we might not be able to escape anyway.’
Felix only wished that his words did not sound all too probable. Swiftly, he hoisted Gotrek’s recumbent form up. It was not easy. The Slayer was very, very heavy. Snorri Nosebiter reached out and grabbed him with one mighty hand, holding the Slayer upright easily. ‘Snorri will take him,’ he said.
‘One of you two get his axe,’ said Felix. Ulli and Bjorni just looked at him blankly. ‘It’s his axe,’ they said.
Exasperated Felix sheathed his sword and picked up the starmetal blade. It took him both hands to lift it, and he doubted he could wield it. ‘Let’s get out of here, he said.
Already behind him, he could hear the curses and war cries of the barbarians about to clamber over the parapet.
Life was so unfair, Thanquol was thinking. For one glorious moment, he had seen the Slayer fall, and thought him dead. And it looked certain that Jaeger and the demented dwarfs would soon be joining him. Then, in an instant, the whole wonderful dream had dissipated. He saw Jaeger bend over the Slayer and announce that he was alive, and the others move to aid him move the dwarf.
Thanquol felt like gnawing his tail in frustration. If only there was some way he could interfere, some way he could cast a spell, but it was not possible. The protective barriers still held on this part of the wall, and even if they did not, Thanquol would not have risked drawing the attention of those wizards back there in the horde. It was so frustrating, having such an easy shot at one of his most dangerous foes, and not being able to take it. One simple spell would be all it would take. The Slayer did not even have the power of his axe to protect him at this moment.
Thanquol heaped curses on the world, the gods, his enemies, and everyone else he could think of, himself excepted. The sheer unfairness of it all was shocking. Filled with the urge to howl with frustration, he decided he had seen enough here. It was time to return to his body and scheme. Perhaps there was some way he could get into the city and take vengeance on Gotrek Gurnisson while he was still unconscious.
Thanquol swore that if there was such a way, and it did not involve too many risks to his own precious hide, he would find it.
Arek rode towards the Gate of Gargoyles. His warriors had taken and opened it, and were now flooding into the undefended city. All around him buildings blazed, wooden support beams catching fire, stonework falling to blackened ruin. Whooping wildly, beastmen and barbaric tribesmen roared through the streets of the city. Some of them had discovered ale barrels, doubtless in the remains of some tavern, and were pouring jack after jack down their throats.
Let the ignorant clods have their fun, thought Arek. Soon they will regret torching those buildings. Where did they think they were going to stay now that winter had set in? Their wild songs were most likely celebrating their own certain deaths, and they did not know it. He rode on, his daemonic charger responding instantly to his mental impulse, his bodyguard of Chaos knights gazing triumphantly on the wreckage of the city.
‘We are victorious,’ Bayar Hornhelm said. His voice sounded hollow. It echoed from deep within the chest plate of his incredibly ornate armour.
‘Not yet,’ Arek said. Ahead of him he could see the inner wall rising higher than the outer wall ever had, and beyond that the mighty bulk of the citadel of Praag stood defiantly. The battle would not be over, Arek knew, until both of those had fallen. ‘This is only the beginning.’
‘Surely they cannot hold out against us much longer.’ Arek shook his head, astonished by the ignorance of even his own followers, the worshippers of Tzeentch. Surely they must know better. The casualties taking the outer wall had been greater than he expected, and now, fully two thirds of the enormous daemonic siege engines were destroyed. Mostly by that accursed dwarf, and his foul axe. Worse yet, despite the fall of the wall, no one had found the dwarf’s corpse or his axe. The vision that his sorcerers had shown him returned to plague Arek. He saw the dwarf and the human standing triumphantly over his corpse. It might still come to pass, he thought. No. He would not allow it.
‘Spread the word, the blessing of Lord Tzeentch and the pick of the plunder to any who bring me the head of the Slayer Gotrek Gurnisson and that of his human companion, Felix Jaeger.’
His heralds instantly rode to obey his instructions. Despite his victory, Arek had an ominous feeling of foreboding. It seemed he had ridden forward too soon.
Felix staggered down the narrow alleyway. The weight of the axe was murderous. He began to understand how the Slayer had become so strong. Just carrying the weapon for a few weeks would be enough to give anyone muscles like a blacksmith.
The stink of burning assailed his nostrils. He could hear the distant triumphant roar of the Chaos warriors and the crash of collapsing buildings. Off in the distance, he could see one of the gigantic daemonic siege towers looming over the red-tiled roofs of the buildings. The sun was hidden by smoke and the eerie red clouds, but the whole scene was given hellish illumination by the flames of burning tenements. At the end of the alley, he could see hordes of barbarians and beastmen revelling in the street. If he had not known better he would have thought he had died and been cast into one of the fiery hells beloved of the worst sort of Sigmarite preacher.
‘Where to?’ Ulli asked, licking his lips nervously. It was a good question. What they needed was to find Max Schreiber, if that was possible, or a healer if that was not. The best bet for that would be a Temple of Shallya where the priestesses of the dove goddess waited to grant their merciful mistress’s blessings to the sick and the wounded. That was assuming any of the temples were left standing. They were most likely all burned and pillaged by the Chaos worshippers. Somehow he could not see them allowing the house of a rival god to stand.
‘No sense in making for the inner city,’ said Bjorni. ‘The gates will be locked tight by now, if the guardians have any sense.’
‘Not enough time,’ said Felix. ‘I doubt that the duke could have got all of his men back there in so short a time.’
‘Won’t make any difference,’ said Bjorni with certainty. This was a side of the ugly Slayer’s character he had never seen before. Bjorni in the heat of battle sounded like a real soldier, not the lecherous lout he normally was. ‘If they are cut off, they are cut off. I
t’s the duty of the troops on those gates to close them and hold them no matter who is left outside.’
‘And where does that leave us?’ asked Ulli. He sounded downright panicky.
‘In the beastmen droppings, as usual,’ said Bjorni, and cackled.
‘You seem unduly happy under the circumstances,’ said Felix. Bjorni looked at him and winked. ‘Why not? I am alive when I expected to be making excuses to my ancestors in hell. And the prospect of doom is still in front of me. Why not make the best of these few extra minutes among the living.’
‘Why not indeed? But we still have to get Gotrek to a healer.’
‘There’s a temple of Shallya down these back alleys somewhere,’ Bjorni said. ‘One of the priestesses cured me of a nasty little rash I picked up at–’
‘Spare me the gory details,’ Felix said. ‘Lead on.’
Max watched as the great gate of the inner city slammed shut behind them. He could not remember ever being this weary. He felt utterly exhausted and yet he also felt that he must do something. He looked around and saw the duke. He seemed angry but hid it well. Max had seen him hustled onto horseback by his personal guard once the outer wall was vacated. His bodyguards had almost ridden down anyone who got in their way. Max was just glad that he and Ulrika had been deemed valuable enough to go with them. He did not relish the idea of being trapped out there in the city with the horde of Chaos worshippers on the rampage.
Ulrika was looking back at the huge iron-shod wooden doors as if by looking hard enough, she might be able to see through them.