Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  ‘I would be surprised if these tales involved the same vampire though,’ said Max. The countess looked at him with some respect. Felix wondered what the wizard’s point was. He wished his head did not hurt quite so much. He wished the motion of the horse did not make him quite so nauseous.

  ‘You would mostly be correct, Herr Schreiber. And where the stories do overlap there is always the possibility of confusion.’

  ‘There are some simple possible explanations,’ said Max. ‘Such things might be completely dependent on what the individual creature itself believes. It happens all the time with wizards. Some can only cast spells when they have their favourite staff. Some believe implicitly that their spells will have no effect on certain things like priests or people bearing the sign of the hammer and, strangely, this is the case. Even though other wizards have no difficulty doing this whatsoever. Magic is in many ways as much about confidence and willpower as it is about tapping the currents of magic, and certainly the undying ones must be even more steeped in magic than even wizards.’

  ‘You are referring to Karel Lazlo’s theory of belief systems,’ said the countess. Max smiled.

  ‘I would have thought I was the only person in a hundred leagues to know about that book, much less to have read it.’

  ‘In Sylvania we know the utility of much strange lore, and we set ourselves to acquiring it.’

  Felix’s head reeled but he still had questions he wanted answered and he wasn’t about to let these two get side-tracked into some long-winded discussion of what some centuries’ dead philosopher thought, no matter how much it might have interested him under normal circumstances.

  ‘Is it true they die if exposed to sunlight?’ he asked, once again forcing his way into the conversation.

  ‘Again it varies,’ said the countess. ‘Some become very badly burned by daylight, some die, some seem able to bear it without major damage. All accounts agree, though, that unless they have just consumed a great deal of blood, or enhanced their powers with magic, that they are considerably less formidable during daylight. No one knows why.’

  ‘I have read that some of them are capable of going abroad by daylight even, provided they protect their skins from exposure,’ said Max. The countess adjusted her veil and looked at him.

  ‘That is most likely true too.’

  Felix wondered how much of what he thought he knew about the creatures was true and how much of it was conditional, or applied only to some and not to others, or was merely an old wives’ tale? He pushed on.

  ‘Can they fly or transform themselves into bats or wolves or other animals? I have read that they can.’

  Both Max and the countess stared at him for long moments in silence. He could not make up his mind whether they were giving his question serious consideration or looking at him as if he were an idiot, but he met their gaze evenly. His question was not stupid if his life might depend on the answer. Eventually the countess spoke, ‘It is said that there were some of the Carstein bloodline who could transform themselves into creatures of the night.’

  Max considered for a while. ‘There is no reason why it should not be possible. Some wizards can manage the same trick using certain transformational spells. I have never seen it done, but I see no reason to doubt that it is possible. Many strange things are given the proper application of the correct forces.’

  Things were looking worse and worse, Felix thought. It was possible that Krieger possessed all the powers that legend ascribed to the blood drinkers, and it was equally possible that none of the protections of which the tales spoke might work against him. He tried telling himself that he was looking at things in the worst of all possible lights but often in the past the worst had happened, so this was no comfort.

  Where was Gotrek, Felix wondered? The power of that ancient axe would certainly be a reassuring thing to have around right now.

  The building still burned as they rode up to it. Thick oily clouds of smoke rose from the peat walls of the nearest huts. Felix had heard the living conditions of the peasants in Sylvania were even more squalid than those of such people elsewhere, and here was evidence of it before his very eyes. Farmers around Altdorf kept pigs in sties that looked more inhabitable than some of these huts must have been.

  Felix had heard that things were hard in Sylvania, and that the lives of the peasants here were bywords for brutishness. Looking at this he could believe it. He had never seen dwellings so small and squalid. The peasants who had come filtering back when they realised the knights had arrived were smaller, thinner and more unhealthy looking than any human beings Felix had ever seen, and most of them bore pockmarks or possessed wall eyes or the look of congenital idiocy. Was there something in the soil here that twisted human life, he wondered?

  He had not realised he had spoken out loud until he saw Max looking at him. ‘The taint of dark magic is very strong in Sylvania,’ said the wizard. ‘And the soil was said to have been contaminated terribly by the warpstone starfall that preceded the Great Plague of 1111. Maybe that has affected the people, although this is probably neither the time nor the place to speak of it.’

  Felix nodded his head. He had visited the Chaos Wastes and thought that there could be no worse place in the world, but now he was starting to have his doubts. The mark of darkness was much more obvious in the Wastes, but in some way the very familiarity of Sylvania made it seem worse. This was part of the Empire. These people were citizens of his native land and yet ruinous magic had tainted their lives in many ways and on many levels. He wondered what his own life would have been like if he had been born here.

  Thinking of the somewhat eccentric appearance and manner of the nobles he had met, he wondered if they were at all different from their people. Perhaps they were changed on the inside the way these folks had been altered on the outside. Perhaps there was some truth in all those tales of madness set in this accursed province. He shook his head. He was making too many assumptions based on too few facts. He was letting the depressing atmosphere of this decaying place get to him.

  He rode up to where some of the villagers were prodding a corpse. Or what at first looked like a corpse. He looked again, reined the horse in and dismounted then shouldered his way through the small knot of people around the body. Maybe once it had been human, although it must have been a very lean and evil-looking man. He prodded it with his boot and the head rolled to one side. The face was shocking, as much for the ways in which it resembled a man as for the ways it did not. The skin was greyish and flaky with an oddly reptilian quality although Felix could not quite put his finger on what made it so.

  The yellowish eyes were much larger than normal, and seemed to bulge out of their sockets so that the eyelids could not contain them. The face was very long, and very lean, and the jaw was very narrow. The mouth grinning in death’s rictus was full of teeth that were discoloured and far too sharp. The nails on the hands were long and claw-like.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘It’s a ghoul, manling,’ said Gotrek, the crowd parting around him. ‘An eater of manflesh.’

  Felix was sickened. Like all the citizens of the Empire he had heard tales of these foul cannibals who gorged themselves on the meat of corpses but he had never really expected to encounter one.

  ‘Goetz killed it yer honour, wiv ’is pitchfork,’ said one of the peasants. ‘Just afore two o’ this thing’s mates grabbed ’im an’ made off. I guess we’ll find his bones cracked for marrow one o’ these days.’

  Now, Felix really did feel nauseous. It was disturbing enough to see the bones of those who had been killed and eaten by beastmen, but if legends were correct this ghoul here had once been human till he developed a taste for forbidden meat.

  ‘Look’s a bit like Wilhelm, this one,’ said another peasant with a sort of dull curiosity. ‘I always did wonder what ’appened to ’im.’

  ‘You’re saying you knew this thing?’ said Felix incredulously.

  ‘Maybe. Wouldn’t be the
first around here to try a bit of sweet pork if you get my drift. Winter is long and sometimes food is scarce. Who can afford the butcher’s bill?’

  Felix did not know what horrified him more, the information the man had imparted or the casual way he had said it. Seeing Felix looking at him askance, the man flinched and added, ‘Not that I’ve ever tried it myself, you understand.’

  The thunder of hooves announced the arrival of Rudgar. ‘These creatures are either very desperate or very confident to be attacking the town itself.’

  The Countess Gabriella’s voice was chill. ‘I fear they are growing very confident.’

  At that moment, the ghoul’s eyes flickered open and it let out a chilling malevolent laugh. ‘The Time of Blood is here,’ it cackled and lunged upward at Felix. Before he even had time to step back, Gotrek’s axe had parted the thing’s head from its shoulders. There was surprisingly little blood.

  The peasants had fallen back muttering with horror, making the sign of the hammer, and other wards that Felix did not recognise. ‘The thing was dead, I knows it was,’ said the peasant who had spoken of sweet pig.

  ‘It is now,’ said Gotrek and spat on the headless corpse.

  ‘It certainly looked dead when I poked it with my boot,’ said Felix, as they strode through the ruins at the edge of town. Here the walls were almost the height of four men and tipped with spikes in places. Of course, in other places there were huge gaps, where the stonework had tumbled and not been rebuilt. It was easy to see how the things had got in.

  ‘Anyone can make a mistake, manling,’ said Gotrek.

  ‘It might have been dead,’ said Max. ‘Perhaps there was some residue of dark magic left within it, which allowed it to come back to a semblance of life one last time.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said the Slayer. ‘Or maybe it was just wounded and faking.’

  ‘You’re most probably right,’ said Max, but he still sounded a little dubious. Felix wondered if the atmosphere of this place was starting to get to the wizard as well. Normally Max Schreiber was quite sceptical.

  ‘Vampires, ghouls, beastmen; what next?’ muttered Felix.

  ‘Some of these peasants look like they might want a good meal of sweet pork,’ said the Slayer nastily.

  ‘They just look like they could use a good meal,’ said Felix.

  ‘No need to concern yourself with these scum,’ boomed Rodrik, striding up the muddy street. He had obviously overheard. ‘They will get by. Their sort always does. Most likely have a whole sackful of turnips they should have used for taxes buried in their midden piles.’

  ‘A whole sackful? Of turnips?’ said Felix softly. His irony was obviously lost on the young knight who just nodded sagely.

  ‘These villains are scum, pure and simple. Steal their liege lords blind, rob a passing stranger for his shoes and use them to make soup. If you don’t treat them with the lash they’ll go right back to their old ways. They were too long under the Vampire Counts.’

  Too long under the likes of you more like, thought Felix, all the reasons why he disliked the aristocracy of his homeland coming flooding back to him. He gazed at the young knight with unconcealed distaste. If Rodrik noticed he gave no sign of it.

  ‘There’s nothing much more we can do here. Best get back to the schloss,’ said Rodrik.

  Felix nodded. They had better things to do than stick around and help this upper class brute oppress the peasants. Still, he had to admit, some of the peasants were looking at him rather hungrily.

  Max was happy to be back on the road again, though less than pleased that Countess Gabriella had decided to accompany them, with Rodrik and his fellows as escort. It seemed that their routes ran together for many leagues. If what the countess claimed about Krieger having a claim on her husband’s lands was true, then perhaps they might find themselves allies.

  The conference of nobles had ended inconclusively. They had agreed to send aid to one another if attacked, but it seemed that the plan was mostly to remain within their castles till the end of winter and then summon their vassals and muster their armies to scour the land. In truth, there was very little else for them to do. Armies would not be able to march in the deep winter and keeping any large force supplied would be next to impossible. Only the desperate or the driven would be abroad now. Max smiled grimly. People like ourselves in other words. And those in the service of the dark powers, he added after a moment’s consideration.

  He wondered how much chance the Sylvanian nobles really had against any force Krieger might muster. Max doubted that it was good. This was a poor, infertile land, and could not support many people. The size of the nobles’ forces was considerably smaller than any that might be mustered elsewhere in the Empire. He doubted that all of the rulers at the meeting at Waldenschlosse together could muster as many troops as the city guard of Praag. That was not an encouraging thought either.

  There had been some talk of hiring mercenaries as well but Max doubted that anything would come of it. No mercenary in his right mind would want to come to Sylvania for the sums these impoverished nobles would offer, and even if they did most would, doubtless, soon be far more lucratively employed by the Emperor in the campaign against Chaos.

  Max dismissed these thoughts and gave his attention to his surroundings. Snow crunched beneath the hooves of the ponies. The Kislevite warriors rode in a column, silently scanning their surroundings with wary eyes. Max did not blame them for their low spirits. He himself had never seen a more ominous-looking wood. The trees were sickly and, where not covered in snow, were blotched with some sort of parasitic mould that glowed in the shadows. The place was oppressive and deathly quiet save for the sounds made by the advancing party.

  He shivered. This was the road to Drakenhof, a place with as bad a reputation as any in the world. At Drakenhof, the scourge of the Vampire Counts had first arisen. At Drakenhof, the first of the infamous von Carsteins had raised his banner and proclaimed himself ruler of Sylvania. The castle itself was said to have been built on a particularly ill-omened site, a nexus of terrible dark magical energies, a place so woven around by evil protective spells that any mortal who spent time there went insane. It was said that the siege engineers who had been set the task of destroying the place by the Emperor Joachim had gone mad, and devoured each other. All things considered, it was not a place he was keen to visit. Unfortunately it seemed likely to be the ultimate destination of Adolphus Krieger. It was a disturbing thought.

  At least, whatever else they might have been, the folk back at Waldenschlosse had been generous with their supplies. They had replenished the stores of grain and hard tack on the wagons out of their own meagre stocks. They had an ulterior motive, Max supposed. If this expedition had even the faintest chance of ridding them of Krieger then it was worth their while supporting it. Judging by the looks they had received, as they rode out, not too many rated their chances highly.

  Max had other reasons to be grateful. While at the keep he had taken advantage of the library and learned a great deal of obscure knowledge concerning Sylvania and the Vampire Counts. The family chronicles of noble houses here were for the most part as dry and dull as those of aristocratic families elsewhere but some surprising nuggets of information could show up.

  Mannfred von Carstein had had the whole approach to Drakenhof lined with the crucified forms of his enemies. One dark autumn evening he had them all set alight to illuminate his triumphal procession into the town. Many of the victims had still been alive when the torch had been set to their oil-soaked bodies. What sort of maniac would do that sort of thing, Max wondered?

  Unfortunately, the answer was all too obvious, when dealing with members of the Carstein bloodline. There seemed to be something tainted in that brood, as if an ancient curse of madness inevitably descended on its members. Not that any of the undying ones were exactly sane. From his other readings, Max knew that almost all of the bloodlines suffered this in some way. Max wondered if the vampires would see it that way though.

&
nbsp; How could he judge? Their lives were so long and their perspectives so skewed by what they were that maybe to them their behaviour was normal. If you had lived for centuries by treating people as cattle then maybe using them as torches would seem natural. Somehow Max could not quite convince himself of this. He thought it far more likely that the creatures were so saturated by dark magic that their minds and their souls, if they still had any, were warped by it. It was a well documented process that occurred to dark magicians and those who trafficked with the Ruinous Powers. There was no reason to assume that vampires were immune; quite the opposite, in fact.

  Max did not know where all of this speculation was leading him except perhaps to the fact that he knew several spells of unbinding and dissipation against dark magic, and that these might prove most useful against a creature which owed its existence in part to those baneful energies. In some ways too this was a tactical problem. If Krieger was one of those who were affected by sunlight then Max knew several spells for replicating the effect of the sun too. Those might prove very handy as well. This was a problem that needed to be considered from all angles. The stakes were too high to allow for any errors of judgement. Not only his life but Ulrika’s and all of their party’s might depend on such things.

  ‘So, you have written poetry?’ asked the Countess Gabriella. Felix nodded, wondering why she had asked him to join her. Surely she had not asked him here simply to discuss poesy. He glanced out into the gathering gloom before nodding. Rodrik rode along beside the coach. He caught Felix’s eye upon him and glanced back with a look that could only be described as jealous. Felix turned to look away. The last thing he wanted was any trouble with the hotheaded young noble.

  He felt quite sleepy. The motion of the coach on its runners was lulling him into a daze. The countess’s coach was warm and the cushioned leather seats a lot more comfortable than the hard bench on the supply sledge. The countess herself was far more pleasant company than the Slayer, although that wasn’t saying much since, on most days, so was a dead badger. To be fair to the woman, she was a lot better company than most people he knew – witty, erudite and charming.