Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  Max looked at Felix as if asking which of them should explain. Felix gestured for Max to speak. Doubtless the mage could tell the tale better than he. Max spoke of the kidnapping of Ulrika and their pursuit across the frozen lands. In the telling he was forced to speak of the siege of Praag and the Chaos invasion.

  The Sylvanian nobles remained silent for a time after he had finished, then looked at each other. Their faces were calm for the most part, but Felix was certain he could see fear in their eyes, and by now he was certain that these were people who did not frighten easily.

  ‘It sounds like the end of the world,’ said the Count of Swartzhafen eventually.

  ‘We live in evil times indeed,’ agreed Baron Leicheburg. ‘More evil even than I had imagined.’

  ‘The Emperor will be summoning his armies,’ said Max. ‘I am sure that come spring he will move to meet the foes.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ said Rudgar. ‘None of us will be moving with him.’

  Felix felt a vague sense of outrage. Nobles were always ones to talk about their rights and privileges. As he recalled they had some duties too, and one of them was to defend the Empire when called upon to do so. Of all those present it seemed Rodrik was the only one who noticed his looks, and he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  ‘It is not that we don’t want to,’ he said quickly. ‘I could ask for nothing more than to ride by the Emperor’s side into battle but our duty is here with our people. If the undying ones have crept once more from hiding it is our duty to see that they are cast back into the pit from which they crawled.’

  The last part of his speech was said with a great deal less confidence than the first part. Felix was not surprised. If his history was correct, the last time the Vampire Counts had risen it had taken all the military might of the Empire and its allies to cast them down, and that had taken many years and the loss of countless lives.

  ‘I agree with young Rodrik,’ said the white-haired old Count of Swartzhafen. He coughed dryly once more. ‘It will do the Empire no good if the Emperor marches to meet the spawn of Chaos only to find an army of undying ones on his flank. Actually, I fear it would spell disaster.’

  Felix was no expert on military matters but it sounded plausible. With such a powerful foe before it, any threat to the Imperial lines of supply or to flanks would be catastrophic. And now he recalled other things about the armies of the Vampire Counts. Their followers tended to be walking corpses animated by the darkest of sorcery. The snows of winter would slow them not at all. Indeed it would be a time when they were at their strongest. Even as they spoke the forces of darkness were gaining a mighty ally.

  ‘The best we can do for the Empire is to smash the undying ones before they grow to their full strength, and then march to the Emperor’s aid.’

  ‘Let us pray that is possible,’ said the Countess Gabriella. All of them made the sign of the hammer over the table save for Gotrek. He just grunted and took a swig of his wine. She leaned forward over the table and a feral gleam entered her cold blue eyes. ‘It seems to me that the gods smile on us. It is not by chance that our friends came here today.’

  Felix saw Gotrek and Max turn to look at her. Ivan was deep in his wine but something about his manner told Felix that he too was listening intently. ‘What do you mean?’ Max asked.

  ‘The name Adolphus Krieger is not unknown to us,’ she said.

  Max sucked in his breath. ‘He is a necromancer?’

  ‘Worse. He is one of the undying ones. A very dangerous progeny of the Carstein bloodline.’

  ‘And what is that exactly?’ Felix asked. He felt he had to say something to conceal the fear that swept through him.

  Krieger was a vampire! It explained a lot about him: his uncanny quickness, his incredible strength. And maybe there was a connection too between him and the killer who had stalked the streets of Praag, draining bodies of blood. He remembered how Nella, the street girl, had mentioned the smell of cinnamon, and the pomander Krieger had carried in the vault.

  The countess’s laugh was silvery. ‘Forgive me, Herr Jaeger: sitting at this table it is sometimes easy to forget that not everyone shares our obsessive interest in, and knowledge of the undying ones. If you are a Sylvanian noble, it is something you grow up with.’

  ‘I thought most Sylvanian nobles were vampires,’ said Gotrek nastily. It was not the most tactful thing to say but it was what Felix had always heard anyway, although most of his knowledge on the subject had come from a nurse who liked to terrify the children under her care with tales of horror.

  In response to the Slayer’s words, the temperature at the table seemed to drop. Rodrik’s hand stole towards his sword and Felix felt sure that only a cool glare from his father prevented the youth from challenging Gotrek on the spot.

  ‘Your knowledge is a little out of date,’ said Baron Leicheburg. He studied the Slayer as if he were a nasty insect that had just crawled onto the table. If Gotrek cared, he gave no sign. He took another swig of the wine and belched loudly. This time it took his father’s hand on his shoulder to prevent Rodrik from surging to his feet and issuing a challenge. There was a look of concern on the older man’s face. He most likely could guess the outcome of that challenge as well as Felix could.

  ‘I can see you are keen to correct me,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘Two centuries ago, you would have been absolutely correct,’ said the Count of Swartzhafen. ‘Two centuries ago this land lay under the heel of the Vampire Counts and their allies. After Hel Fenn they were… exterminated, and the Emperor gave these lands in fief to trustworthy vassals.’

  Felix remembered reading something about the subject in the University Library in Altdorf. The book had said nothing about trustworthy vassals though. It had said that the lands of Sylvania were given to impoverished noble houses, and second sons keen to own land who could not get it any other way. The book implied that you would have to be very desperate indeed to want to rule over any part of the province.

  ‘I have heard tales of vampires in Sylvania far more recently than Hel Fenn,’ said Max. ‘Reliable sources have informed me they have ruled large tracts of this land until even quite recently. I believe the Templars of the White Wolf besieged Castle Regrak ten years ago when it was discovered that the occupant was a blood drinker.’

  ‘Regrak was a blood drinker,’ said the Count of Swartzhafen, ‘but he was as mortal as you or me. He merely thought that consuming the blood of virgin youths would keep him young and give him mystical powers. As far as I know it did not. Believe me, if he had been a vampire, the Templars would have had considerably more trouble burning down his manor.’

  ‘Nonetheless, our learned friend is quite correct,’ said the countess. ‘There have been other instances of the undying ones ruling in Sylvania since Hel Fenn, as we all know only too well. If the number of these instances is less than popular rumour would have the ignorant believe it does not change the essential truth.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my original question, countess,’ said Felix. He realised from his tone of voice and the slurring of his words that he was actually getting quite drunk. Not surprising really. He had been ill for days, and not taken any wine for the length of their journey. He was out of practice at drinking. ‘What did you mean by the Carstein bloodline?’

  Again Felix was surprised when Max replied. He could never quite resist showing off his knowledge when given half a chance. ‘Scholars of these things believe the undying ones can be… classified is perhaps the best word, into several bloodlines. These are believed to be descendants of the original vampires of the city of Lahmia in the kingdom of Nehekhara created by Nagash over three thousand years ago. Each bloodline is supposed to share some of the traits of its progenitor and to have different strengths and weaknesses depending on its ancestry.’

  Felix saw the countess staring at Max with a mixture of amusement, respect and interest. He felt a little jealous. She certainly was a very good-looking woman. Suddenly he felt disgusted
with himself. What was he thinking? Ulrika was in the hands of something far worse than a madman and a dark magician, and here he was lusting after another woman. The more cynical part of his mind told him that feeling ashamed would not in any way change the facts of the situation.

  ‘You are a very learned man, Herr Schreiber. I am surprised. These are not matters of common knowledge. We must discuss how you came to acquire such scholarship some time.’

  Max nodded his head condescendingly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I have studied much dark and forbidden lore and–’

  ‘Nonetheless, you are wrong in one or two particulars.’

  ‘Wrong?’

  ‘The vampires were not created by Nagash. They were mighty mages in their own right who acquired some of his knowledge in the long wars of the Dawn Ages.’

  Max looked dubious but remained silent.

  ‘That was an age at least as fractious as our own.’

  ‘The Carstein bloodline?’ Felix prodded, hoping still to get an answer to his original question.

  ‘It is one of the major vampiric bloodlines,’ said the countess. ‘In the Empire it is perhaps the major bloodline.’

  ‘The name is certainly the most familiar,’ said Felix dryly. ‘What with the wars of the Vampire Counts and all.’

  ‘That is why the bloodline is known as the Carstein line. The original Vlad von Carstein was the most famous of all the counts, and popular legend gives his name to all of his progeny.’

  ‘You sound as if you disagree with this?’ said Max, ever the scholar, quibbling over a minor point of terminology not discussing a mass murderer whose insane plans of conquest had resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands of people.

  The countess gave a small shrug, a gesture Felix associated with the wealthy Bretonnian merchants who often visited his father’s premises. ‘I do not see that it matters. We know little of von Carstein’s antecedents. He was the first of his line who achieved notoriety. Since then, his descendants have been quite active, particularly here in Sylvania.’

  ‘It looks like they have become a lot more active just recently,’ said Felix. ‘I wonder why.’

  ‘I think that is something we need to find out,’ said Count Rudgar. ‘Many lives might depend on it.’

  Not least our own, thought Felix. He forced himself to concentrate once more in spite of the wine and the heat and the feeling of wellbeing brought on by consuming rich food for the first time after many days of hardship. ‘You seem to know a bit about Adolphus Krieger,’ he said, trying not to slur his words too much. ‘Would you care to share your knowledge with us?’

  ‘Later,’ said the countess. ‘It’s been a long day and I am sure we are all weary. The matter will wait for tomorrow. There are some things best discussed when the sun is high.’

  Under the circumstances, Felix could not fault her reasoning.

  The chamber was large, chilly and dominated by a huge portrait of a cold-eyed Sylvanian nobleman who seemed to study Felix with murderous intent. Briefly, he considered checking the rooms for secret passages. In the old tales Sylvanian castles were riddled with such things but the room was too cold and he was too drunk to bother. He did take the precaution of latching his door and leaving his sword propped against the wall within easy grasping distance of his bed.

  As he drifted off into a cold and fitful sleep, he could have sworn he heard the distant howling of wolves.

  SEVEN

  It was dark. The coach slid through the night silently and swiftly. Behind them, the wolves padded along in the snow like wraiths. Their eyes burned. Their breath billowed forth in clouds. They looked at once beaten and fierce. There was something deeply unnatural about them now, as they slid further and further under the domination of the vampire.

  Ulrika knew how they felt. She was confused. Her emotions were awhirl and it sometimes seemed to her that the darkness of the night had invaded her mind and her soul. She hated Krieger. She loathed him. He was arrogant, supercilious, sure of himself, domineering, contemptuous of those he deemed beneath him, which consisted of most of the world. She was sure that what he planned was evil, and yet sometimes she wanted to be part of it.

  When she stopped to think, she knew that she must get away, that somehow she should escape from the coach and flee or find some way to kill him.

  And yet it was impossible. He was too strong, too powerful. Often she had tried to strike him with her knife, and he had taken it from her as an adult might snatch a toy from a child. Twice she had tried to flee over the snows, into the depths of the winter woods. She had raced off, uncaring of whether she died of cold or starvation.

  Once he had simply followed her trail, overtaken her in the darkness and carried her back to the coach. She could no more resist being snatched up than a mouse could have resisted a cat. The second time, she thought she had got away clean, but the cold had bitten through the thin clothing she wore, and she had passed out in the snow. She had woken to find herself back in the coach, warmed by some unnatural means, and quite certain that he could have overhauled her at any time, that he was toying with her, that he had let her think she had escaped just to be able to dash her hopes further. The most astonishing thing was that none of the vampire’s servants tried to stop her. It was as if they had been commanded not to interfere.

  She had kept her eyes peeled for a village where she might break free and find shelter, but they never stopped in one for long, and Roche or the others purchased all of the supplies while she was held immobile in thrall to his master’s burning gaze and unnaturally strong grip. She could not even begin to make herself scream or shout for help, and that too made her wonder.

  There was a darker side to her captivity, she acknowledged. In the vampire’s burning embrace there was an ecstasy the like of which she had never known, a pleasure fiercer than anything she had ever experienced. She had heard that some devotees of the daemon god Slaanesh became addicted to certain drugs and became completely dependent on them. She was starting to suspect that she knew how they felt. There were times when she found herself looking forward to the coming of night with longing, and times when she was disappointed when Krieger did not wish to sip her blood. There were times when she felt jealous when she saw him descend from the coaches of one of his followers, with that sleepy sated look on his face.

  And worse yet, she suspected that he knew this. Certainly the amused glances he gave her implied as much as his talk. He seemed very certain of this; very sure, as if he had done this hundreds of times before, and watched hundreds of women become his mindless slaves.

  That thought brought a spark of resistance to her mind. She was not going to be anybody’s mindless servant. She was not going to become his willing victim. If he thought she would, he was in for a surprise. Some way, somehow, she would find her way out of this trap and then…

  And then what? There were other things to be considered as well. She was a long way from home, with no money or equipment or friends. She was sure they were in the wicked land of Sylvania now, a place of dark legends – not a place to be stranded alone in the depths of winter. There were the wolves loping along steadily behind them. Without Krieger’s protection they might well tear her limb from limb. She glanced out into the gloom and saw Krieger there, striding along among them, a predator among predators.

  With the sight of him, the darkness in her thoughts returned, and with the darkness, temptation. Of late he had taken to talking to her more softly, of offering her things. Not bribes, not gold or jewels, but power and immortality. He did it in a mocking, teasing way, so she could never be sure whether he meant it, or merely intended to torment her before killing her.

  She was not interested in such offers, she told herself. She did not want to become immortal at the price of her soul. She did not want to unnaturally prolong her life at the cost of others’ blood. She had no desire to learn the darkest secrets of sorcery. No. She wanted none of these things. There was no temptation there.

  But at times sh
e had found herself considering things. If she became immortal, she could some day become his equal, she could learn his secrets, and make her escape or extract her revenge. Unlife would eventually grant her that power, she was sure. That was the only real temptation there, or so she tried to convince herself. Unfortunately, she was not sure it was exactly true.

  Sometimes when he talked, he seemed to be giving her glimpses into a greater, darker world, one possessed of an ancient and terrible beauty, ruled over by an aristocracy of the night, who held court in shadowed palaces, served by legions of more than willing servants. He talked of the far places he had been, and the things he had seen there, more places than any mortal could visit in a lifetime she was sure.

  He had seen the Land of the Dead, and the great Black Pyramid of Nagash at midnight. He had heard the whisperings of the dead men as they stirred within the tomb cities. He had visited the edges of the Realms of Chaos and they seemed to hold no terrors for him. He had visited Bretonnia, Estalia, Tilea and every one of the known lands of men. He had talked with famous painters, and poets, as well as kings and queens and lesser rulers. He had discussed philosophy with Neumann, and playwriting and poetry with von Diehl and Sierck and Tarradasch.

  He possessed a knowledge and a sophistication that made every man she had ever met seem shallow and venal. Even Max did not possess his depth of knowledge. Of course, she thought, Max had not stolen centuries of lives from innocents to acquire his scholarship either.

  Krieger strode up to the side of the coach and wrenched the door open. The night’s chill entered with him. He reached out and touched her cheek with one icy hand. She flinched away but not as quickly as she would have liked.

  ‘Have you thought about the question I asked?’

  ‘You are not a teacher and I am not your pupil,’ she said. ‘I do not need to answer any of your questions.’