Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  Then, just when he thought all feelings were extinguished, they would return in the oddest ways. He would find himself remembering the strange Kislevite way in which she stressed certain syllables, or the way she shook her head but smiled when he said something particularly stupid. He was not sure why he found these things endearing, he just knew that he did. They were some of the links in the chain that still somehow bound him, even when he thought time, distance and hunger had corroded it. He might never be really certain of how he felt about her, but he knew that as long as she lived he would have the chance to find out. If she died…

  Just keep moving, he told himself. Just keep following this trail. Just keep eating the disgusting Kislevite iron rations. Just put up with the cold and the aches and the grumbling of the dwarfs and the boasting of the Kislevites and Max’s constant worried expression. Just endure them. One way or another, you will get through this. One day, if you are lucky, you will look back on this and remember it fondly, in the way you can look back on hardships you have endured once they are safely long in the past.

  He knew the strange tricks his memory could play would, if he lived, somehow edit this trial down into its highlights. He would remember the camaraderie, and the shared dangers survived. He would remember the sudden, surprising way beauty would spring on you even in the depths of this winter wilderness. He would remember enchanted vistas of frozen forest groves glimpsed from the corner of his eye as they bumped along the trail. He would remember a startled deer bounding off into the distance as it caught sight of them, its hindquarters flickering as it covered the ground in mighty leaps. He would remember the clear, clean frozen air, the sound of the runners cleaving the snow, and the ponies whickering to one another as if to keep their spirits up. He would remember the odd feeling of tranquillity as the horse-soldiers sang their winter hymns around the fires in the ice huts they carved for themselves each afternoon.

  Without the immediate feelings of pain and nausea and worry and fear his memory would translate this into a wonderful adventure.

  It would all be a lie of course, but it would be a glamorous lie far, far better than the real thing, and perhaps like all the other tale-tellers he would pass on that lie and make them think there was something wonderful about it too. And strangest of all, he knew that he would be sincere when he did it. He would genuinely believe what he was saying.

  Marek had dropped back to look at the tracks. He was studying them carefully. ‘Not too far ahead of us, I would guess,’ he said. ‘Not friendly either.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ Felix asked.

  ‘Easy. Some of the footprints are mixed with hoof prints. Cloven ones. Beastmen are the only things that leave tracks like that. If we’re lucky we’ll overtake them soon.’

  There will be nothing lucky about it, Felix thought, nursing his aching head.

  Max was worried. Not by the prospect of facing an indeterminate number of beastmen but by the length of time the pursuit was taking. They had been on the move for almost a week now and were still no closer to the talisman. If anything, the distance was increasing. Whoever Krieger was, he certainly knew how to move through this winter landscape.

  In a way it was good. He was reassured that the dark magician could keep going, and not be slowed by any of the perils of the way. It implied that if he wanted to keep Ulrika alive he was capable of it, and that was Max’s one remaining source of hope. It was not a good one, though. Knowing that Krieger was powerful boded ill for their chances of recovering the girl, particularly if he had learned to tap the powers of the talisman.

  Max shivered, and not with the cold. Since Ulrika’s capture he had driven himself far beyond anything he would have believed possible. He sometimes felt he was keeping himself going by sheer willpower alone. He had turned into a man of stone. He did not feel the cold, he did not feel weary and he did not feel any hunger. He just wanted to get the woman back.

  In a way he was almost grateful for the situation. It had helped him recover from the terrible mental ordeal of putting himself back together after his encounter with the wards on the talisman. It had given him a reason to overcome his feelings of weakness and self-pity and to confront the abyss of doubt that loomed within his mind. He knew that he must pull himself back from the brink as much for Ulrika’s sake as for his own.

  He had thought he had loved her before but what he had felt then was but a pale shadow of what he felt now. The prospect of losing her was almost more than he could bear. He had never felt anything so deeply before in his life. The urge to find her was an overwhelming drive; it dwarfed any of his bodily needs or any of his own weaknesses.

  He begrudged every minute lost on the trail. He resented the possibility of encountering the beastmen as much because it would slow them down as because there was a possibility of injury or death. He hated every moment lost that enabled Krieger to put distance between them. He resented the time it took to make camp at night, to build the icehouses, make fires. If he could, he would have gone without them, without food or drink or sleep if need be.

  Part of him knew this was madness. If he did not get those things he would die, and be of no help to anyone, least of all Ulrika. But it was one thing knowing these things rationally and another to feel them in the depths of his soul.

  His life had simplified down to one true and real thing: he must save Ulrika. He thought he might go mad if he did not.

  So far, they had found nothing, overtaken no monsters, and seen no sight of any beastmen. The only ones who were sorry were the Slayers. Everyone else was relieved. Felix wondered how the beastmen could survive in the depths of winter. Ivan had the answer.

  ‘They eat each other when they can’t get manflesh. The big ones eat the little ones. The strong devour the weak. I suppose they think it’s their gods’ way of testing them, so that only the hardiest survive. I don’t know. I only know that I have seen enough corpses and fought enough battles against them in the winter to know the truth of it.’

  Gotrek nodded as if he agreed with every word. Felix shuddered. This was the sort of knowledge he could cheerfully have spent his entire life without ever acquiring. Unfortunately it appeared that fate had other plans for him.

  ‘Best keep moving,’ said the Slayer. ‘Every foul Chaos beast in the world appears to be moving this winter. Sooner or later we’re going to run into some of them.’ His evil smile left Felix in no doubt as to what would happen then.

  SIX

  The moons blazed brightly overhead. The snow lay thick upon the forest. Gnarled ancient trees surrounded them, growing out over the road. Adolphus breathed deeply. Finally they were here. The air tasted different: it was sharper, with a tang of blood and dark magic and ancient secrets. He knew he was home. There was no place in the world that smelled quite like Sylvania.

  He had not been born here, of course, but he had spent many centuries of his undeath here. It was a haven for his kind. A land which had been ruled by undying counts for centuries, where the peasants and the lesser so-called aristocrats had long ago realised their true place in the great scheme of things and bowed their heads and given their service to the Arisen. He would see that those days returned once more. The Time of Blood was here. The Council and those who followed them would change their ways or go to hell. He would send them there personally.

  With the wolves trailing along behind him like a pack of obedient dogs, he strode in the wake of the coaches. It was easy enough for him to keep pace with it even in the deep snow. It was no obstacle to one such as he. The cold did not slow him, and he had long ago left such human weaknesses as suffering from frostbite behind him. On this night, the night of his return, he wanted to be outside, to stalk the night like the hunter he was, to sniff the wind for prey, to seek blood in the old way. Here of all places it was possible to do so without fear of reprisal. And he wanted to be alone to savour the moment, away from the pettiness of the coven and the cold amusement of Roche.

  In this ancient stronghold of vampiric power
, the cattle knew better than to rise up against their masters. Even in the dark times, when the forces of the so-called Emperor had driven the Arisen underground, they had been feared and respected in Sylvania. The mortals knew that no matter who claimed sovereignty over this land, there would only ever be one true set of rulers. Human power was transitory here. The sway of the Arisen would always return. An accommodation had been reached between the mortals and their masters that Adolphus knew satisfied a deep-seated need in both. For the brutish short-lived peasants what could be better than one who combined all the characteristics of feudal liege and undying god? Such people always needed to know their place in the world, and the Arisen had made sure that they did. In a way, the cattle were even grateful to feel the smack of firm government. They were happiest when they knew their place, when their thinking was done for them.

  Adolphus knew that one day the whole world would be like this. Sylvania was a model for what was to come. Now that the talisman was in his hands, he would soon have the power to make it so. He had never been the most accomplished of magicians – his talents had always lain in other directions – but once he reached Drakenhof and tapped the ancient node of power there, he would claim the Eye for his own.

  He smiled. It had taken decades of research and years of studying cryptic books and prophecies but the key to ultimate power was now in his grasp. In his hand, he held an artefact of the Great Necromancer, created at the peak of his power, an item that the mighty liche had once held in his own claw, and imbued with a fraction of his own limitless strength. Nagash had been subtle and relentless in his hatred of all the powers that might challenge his. He had forged the talisman when it became obvious that the ancient Vampire Queens of Lahmia and their followers might eventually rise to challenge him. He was not going to risk having such potent undying sorcerers dwelling in the same land without taking precautions against them, so he had created the Eye of Khemri to work their undoing.

  It contained runes which when properly activated would bend the Arisen to its wearer’s will. With it he had created the Hounds of Nagash, kin who served him loyally while under its spell. The rest of the Arisen had fled and hidden themselves in the distant corners of the world. Of course, Nagash had never intended for the Eye to leave his presence. For all his power he had not foreseen his own defeat first by the hero-king Alcadizaar then by the man-god Sigmar. Upon his destruction the Eye had vanished into history, passing through the hands of a succession of unknown bearers until it had re-appeared on the throat of Vlad von Carstein. Not even his closest associates had known what it was even as they fell under its sway. Sometimes, Adolphus wondered whether the first and mightiest of the Vampire Counts had truly realised what it was he owned. Vlad was gone forever now and Adolphus regretted he would never have the chance to ask him. It had passed through the hands of his successors, none of whom had guessed its true power until its eventual loss at the Battle of Hel Fenn. It had been years later, perusing the section of one of the three extant copies of the dread Liber Occultus dealing with the history of ancient Nehekhara, that Krieger had realised what the Eye was. So had begun his long search.

  Now the talisman was in his hands, and he almost had it attuned to his will. With it, he could make himself undisputed ruler of the Arisen. He could unite all of Sylvania behind him and create an invincible army. It would take time and patience, of course. In many ways the Arisen fancied themselves the secret rulers of the world, but the main thing that prevented this, in truth, was their disunity. They spent more time plotting against each other than they did seeking to extend the dominion of their kind.

  Adolphus would put an end to this. He would organise the Arisen and replace the vacillations of the Council with his own ironhanded rule. He would be their king, but he would see to it that they had a hierarchy as strict as any Empire with every one knowing their place, and having their own clearly defined fiefdoms. He had travelled. There was enough room for all of them, and big enough herds of human cattle to keep them all through eternity. He was excited now. Visions of what was to come burned in his brain, and he found he wanted to share them.

  Leaving the wolves, he strode back past his followers and vaulted up into the coach. The girl looked up at him. He could see the resistance was slowly draining out of her along with the blood. Her anger was mixed with desire now and yes, even need. The ecstasy of the dark kiss did that to them, no matter how much they denied it. Still she reached for her dagger; still she intended to make a show of fighting him off. Casually he reached out and took it from her, the way a man might take a toy from a child. He was in no mood for games this evening. He wanted to talk, and it was either to her or Roche or the wolves. He felt somehow that telling her was the right thing.

  ‘I am going to rule this land soon,’ he said.

  ‘You are mad,’ she said. Her weakness made her voice soft and breathy. Adolphus felt the urge to sip from her blood rise in him once more. He pushed it back. He wanted to explain his plan to her, to force her to see what he saw, to make her acknowledge him for what he was and what he would be.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I am not. I am in a position to do everything I claim.’

  She shook her head disbelievingly, but he could tell he had her interest. ‘The Arisen are many and their covens have a great deal of influence in the world. You would be surprised how many of the rich and powerful are secret members.’

  ‘So?’ He liked the way she raised her chin challengingly as she spoke, despite her weakness, despite the way the kiss must have made her head spin. It made things interesting.

  ‘I am going to rule the Arisen.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Don’t be sullen, Ulrika. It doesn’t become you. I am going to use this talisman, which you and your friends so valiantly defended. It has a great deal of power within it. It was created by the Great Necromancer Nagash to allow him to command my kind many centuries ago. The power is still within it. I will rule the Arisen, and through them I shall rule this land.’

  ‘The Emperor might have something to say about that. You may have money and influence but that won’t defeat an army.’

  ‘Ulrika, Ulrika, sometimes I think you deliberately pretend to be stupid in order to make me underestimate you. We both know that money and influence can recruit soldiers, and we both know that many of the people who have them also already employ soldiers. More to the point, Nagash was the Great Necromancer. I can use the power of this talisman to raise an army from every cemetery and every burial ground if necessary. And many of the Arisen are also potent necromancers. United we will create an army so vast that no mortal force could stand against it.’

  ‘An army of walking corpses.’

  ‘I am sure they will not object. After all, they are already dead. Only the gods and the Arisen live forever.’ He let those words and that thought hang in the air for a moment. Most mortals were eventually seduced by its power. Even if he never offered to make them one of the Arisen, they would begin to think about it. They would begin to see the possibilities of what pleasing him could bring. No fear of ageing; no fear of the grave. No fear of having to leave this world behind. It was this promise more than anything else that made them give themselves up so willingly. It was a coin that only his kind could demonstrably offer. He thought he saw the temptation occur to her, and he could tell by her expression that she dismissed it. He was not worried. Many mortals did the first time, before they truly had time to think about it. Once they did…

  ‘The forces of Chaos may object as well. They seem hell-bent on having the world themselves.’ She gestured at the window, to the bloated face of Morrsleib glaring down garishly from the sky.

  ‘They will be thrown back, as they have before. United, the Arisen will have the power to do that. They are possibly the only ones who could. Do you think the decaying kingdoms of mankind have the strength?’

  ‘They will have strength enough to stop you. Just as von Carstein was stopped at Hel Fenn.’

  He smiled, showin
g her his teeth, all of them. She shivered. Partly from fear he was sure, but also partially from desire. ‘Hel Fenn? I remember it well. Von Carstein should never have fought there. It was a bad site for a battle. No place to retreat except the swamp. He was confident we would not need to. Foolish…’

  ‘You were at Hel Fenn?’ He could see the dawn of knowledge in her eyes. She was beginning to realise what he was, what he was capable of offering. She now knew he had been present at a battle fought over two centuries ago.

  ‘I am still here,’ he said. ‘How many of the so-called victors can say that?’

  She had no answer. There was none.

  ‘We’re getting closer to the beastmen at last,’ said Marek. Felix looked at the tracker through the gathering twilight. His weather-beaten face was tense with suppressed excitement. All of the Kislevite lancers looked ready for combat. Max stretched his limbs and Felix thought for a moment he saw a faint nimbus of light play around the wizard’s flexing fingers.

  ‘I hear the sound of fighting up ahead,’ said Gotrek. Felix heard nothing but that did not surprise him. The Slayer’s ears were keener than his, just as his eyes were better than a dwarf’s in daylight.

  ‘Who is fighting?’ Felix asked.

  ‘Men and beasts and Chaos warriors. The name of Khorne is being chanted, but we will soon put an end to that.’ Felix wished that he felt so certain. Ivan Petrovich nodded. His lancers broke into a trot. Felix cracked the reins and urged the ponies forward.

  Soon he could hear the sounds of battle himself.

  Blood stained the snow. A group of men armoured like Imperial knights made a last stand in the centre of the clearing. They were attempting to protect a coach. Men-at-arms lay dead in snowdrifts, their pikes fallen from their nerveless fingers. All around them were beastmen, horned horrors, part man, part goat, clutching weapons in their misshapen fingers, stamping on the fallen with their cloven hooves. Their eyes gleamed red with bloodlust. Froth dripped from their mouths.