Gotrek & Felix- the Second Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer

  ‘I will help you,’ said Felix, wishing he felt nearly as confident as he sounded.

  ‘First we will have to find him,’ said Max.

  ‘Something tells me that it won’t be too difficult. He came all the way to Sylvania for a reason, and I think we can both guess what it is.’

  ‘To claim the whole bloody province, and that’s just for a start.’

  Even as he spoke, Felix knew Max was right. The wars of the Vampire Counts were about to start all over again.

  Max hunched forward in his seat, barely able to handle the reins. Fortunately the weary ponies could almost be trusted to follow the path themselves. The cold wind bit into his face, bringing tears to his eyes. He could not find the energy to recast a spell of warming. It was all he could do to keep himself upright and concentrate on breathing.

  At first there was a niggling sense of loss. The link to the Eye, which he had held onto for so long, was gone completely. Even when he had not been concentrating on the thing, he had always been aware that it was there. Now, he could not feel its presence. After a while he realised that he also felt better. It was as if he had just had a tooth pulled, one that had been giving him niggling pain for weeks.

  In a way he was relieved. His contact with the ancient evil within the Eye of Khemri, no matter how far removed, had been oppressive, and had cast a pall over his spirits. Now, despite the circumstances he felt almost cheerful. It was difficult to keep a smile off his face, despite his worries over Ulrika and what the vampire might be doing. He knew this was not right, but he could not help himself. It was as if he had just started to recover from a long illness. The whole world looked somehow brighter.

  Ulrika looked at the talisman glittering on Adolphus Krieger’s chest. Somehow, it made the vampire look taller, more commanding and more confident even than he usually did. He smiled at her in a way that was almost friendly. She shook her head and looked away, wondering why everything in the room seemed sharper and clearer to her sight than it normally did, despite the darkness. What was happening to her? She was not sure she wanted to know.

  She glanced around the strange throne room he had brought her to. It was buried deep within this haunted castle with its strange corridors in which time and distance seemed to become all twisted. There was a stillness about the place such as you found only in the oldest of temples, and a sense of brooding evil power that left her in no doubt that she was at the heart of the wickedness that enshrouded this place. Ancient suits of armour filled the niches, clutching old but still serviceable weapons.

  Overhead, amid the enormous beams of a gigantic vaulted ceiling, she thought she saw something move. Vast shadows seemed to shift above the huge chandelier, independent of the light being cast. There was a terrible sense of presence about the place that she very badly wanted to ignore.

  ‘It begins now,’ said Krieger, mounting the massive dais and lounging back on an enormous throne of carved and polished wood. The back of the throne was sculpted to resemble the wings of a massive bat or dragon. Over Krieger’s head loomed the skull of an enormous bat. Glowing rubies gazed from its eye sockets.

  Krieger’s voice was deeper somehow, more resonant and thrilling. It was difficult not to believe someone who sounded like that. She fought the compulsion, reminding herself that he was an evil, soulless bloodsucker. Somehow she could not manage the vehemence she once had. It was hard to think of anything save the pleasure of his last embrace. She wondered how that could have happened, then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

  It had happened and she needed to fight against it. That was all she needed to know.

  ‘The talisman is mine now, Ulrika. Soon I will be the Prince of Night.’

  ‘I do not know what you mean.’

  ‘The talisman was created by the Great Necromancer himself in the ancient days. One of its many attributes is to increase its wearer’s… influence over the Arisen.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Nagash feared the growth of their power, and saw them as potential rivals. He made the talisman and with it bent many of the Arisen to his will: they became his hounds, creatures that are feared to this very day. The amulet was lost when Alcadizaar overcame him. It has drifted down the ages born by fools who were too blind to see what it was. All that is ended. Tonight, I have claimed it for my own, just as I have claimed von Carstein’s throne for my own.’

  ‘How do you know it will still work after all this time?’

  ‘Not for nothing was he known as the Great Necromancer. The things he made do not lose their potency. He was the greatest sorcerer of his age, the greatest necromancer of any age. No one ever understood the magic of Undeath like he did. I know the Eye works. I can feel it. You are already responding to its influence.’ The tone of his voice shocked her. She had never heard anyone sound quite so triumphant.

  ‘What do you mean? Why should I feel its influence?’ She suspected she already knew the answer.

  ‘Because every night for the past three nights you have taken a step closer to joining me. It seems only fair that I should have someone by my side to enjoy my triumph. You will be the possessor of eternal life.’

  Her mouth felt suddenly dry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run shrieking from the hall. She wanted to drive her knife into the chest of this undead ghoul. And a surprisingly large part of her was almost pathetically grateful for the offer.

  ‘No,’ she forced herself to say.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, springing on her, his fangs emerging, his eyes glowing with a hellish light. She tried to dodge but she was dazed and slow. He caught her easily. His fingers burned on her neck. She grabbed his wrists and tried to pry his hands away but he was far too strong. Slowly, he bent over her, as if he was about to deliver the gentlest of kisses. His eyes blazed redly. His canine teeth gleamed like ivory. She could see they were long and sharp as needles.

  A surge of ecstasy passed through her body as his teeth bit into her neck. Strength drained from her along with all will to resist. Slowly her vision darkened, and her hearing dimmed until all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat. She felt a bloody finger being forced into her mouth and she sucked at it as greedily as an infant at a mother’s breast.

  Even as she did so, the darkness continued to gather. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears like thunder and then stopped.

  ‘At least this village has an inn,’ said Ivan Petrovich Straghov gloomily, staring up at the sign of the Green Man. ‘It certainly beats camping out in the snow for another night.’

  Felix was not sure he agreed. The Green Man was an enormous fortified structure overlooking another nameless and partially ruined Sylvanian hamlet. His limited experience of this land’s towns and villages had not left him filled with any great desire to spend time in them, although he had to admit the howling of the distant wolves made even this squalid place seem an attractive option.

  He sniffed and looked at Gotrek.

  ‘They will have beer,’ said the Slayer, as if this was reason enough to spend a night in a flea-infested hovel.

  ‘Snorri likes beer,’ Snorri added, by way of clarification.

  ‘I’m glad you told me that. I would never have guessed.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, young Felix.’ Felix reflected miserably that one of the worst things about his lengthening association with Snorri was that the dwarf’s capacity to detect sarcasm had improved greatly with practice. ‘A pint or two is just the thing to drive off the night chill.’

  A pint or ten more likely, thought Felix, but did not voice the thought out loud. He realised he was just arguing for the sake of being contrary, to give vent to his anger and anxiety over Ulrika and their quest, and his own misery in his illness. He was not being constructive, or helpful, and anyway, it appeared that his opinion mattered not at all, since everyone else in their party appeared to be in favour.

  All the tales of dark, haunted Sylvanian inns he had read as a youngster returned to him. They were often the haunt of mu
rderers or monstrous vampires who preyed on innocent travellers. He felt like making dire pronouncements about how they would all regret this, but he resisted. There was no point other than to increase the pall of gloom that had already gathered over their journey.

  Inside, the inn was not as bad as Felix had expected. The building was made of stone, perhaps an indicator of more prosperous days in the region, although Felix could not ever recall hearing of any time when Sylvania was prosperous.

  The thin crowd of folk within fell silent at the entrance of the party of knights, Slayers and over a score of Kislevite horsemen. The landlord, a fat barrel of a man with cold calculating eyes in a jolly face, came round the bar to greet them. He rubbed his hand nervously on a soiled apron, obviously unsure whether they were customers or a bandit band.

  Rodrik informed him of their purpose, and requested rooms for his companions and a separate chamber for the countess. Felix and Max took separate chambers. The Slayers and the Kislevites elected to remain in the common room. Actually, several of the horse archers elected to remain in the stables with their mounts. A number of obscene jokes concerning the love of the Kislevite cavalryman for his horse sprang to Felix’s mind but he tactfully restrained himself from telling them.

  Felix studied the patrons. This was a relatively prosperous inn for this part of the world, he realised. Few in the common room appeared to be locals. Most looked like merchants and their bodyguards, although it seemed to be a bit early in the year for them to be on the road.

  A few looked like noblemen down on their luck, the sort of shabby genteel men who you always found in the remoter parts of the Empire, cheating the locals at cards and making outrageous demands based on their supposed superior status. More than a few looked like mercenaries, hard-faced dangerous men in worn armour. Most of them had a hungry, hopeful look. They reminded Felix of a pack of starving wolves scenting a wounded deer.

  In one corner, sat a priest of Morr, in his black robes, a cowl obscuring his face. His presence was such a cliché in melodramas that Felix almost laughed. Instead he strode up to the bar, and ordered ale for himself and the dwarfs. Ivan Petrovich was already seeing to the comfort of his men, and Max and the nobles had disappeared upstairs to inspect the rooms along with the countess.

  As he leaned on the bar, one of the dingy-looking men at the corner table sidled over to him. He was dressed in a tattered fur cloak and hat, and the soiled finery of those who belonged to the nobility. His eyes were quick and fear-filled, his face was gaunt and narrow, and his Adam’s apple was very prominent.

  ‘Just got in?’ he asked. He had the look of a man gauging whether Felix would offer to buy him a drink or not. His accent marked him as a noble, or someone who had learned how to pretend to be one. He licked his lips. ‘Where have you come from, sir?’

  Felix noticed the man’s fingers toyed nervously with the pommel of his longsword. The hilt was absurdly over-decorated. It went all too well with the man’s pretentious tunic and codpiece. ‘Waldenhof,’ said Felix, more to be polite than because he was interested in anything the man had to say. The man quirked an eyebrow as if to say both he and Felix knew that Felix was kidding. Felix refused to take the bait.

  ‘And yourself?’ he asked.

  ‘Here and there,’ said the man. It was Felix’s turn to smile ironically at him. Felix turned to watch the barman pour the drinks, hoping to indicate by this the conversation was over. ‘Just came up the road from Leicheberg.’

  ‘You’re travelling at a bad time of the year,’ said Felix.

  ‘I could say the same about you,’ muttered the stranger.

  ‘I have urgent business in these parts,’ said Felix.

  ‘Must be. I can’t help but wonder what urgent business might bring twenty Kislevite horse-soldiers, a pair of Slayers, a wizard, some Sylvanian knights and the Countess of Nachthafen to the Green Man on a winter night like tonight. And an educated man like yourself as well.’

  Felix looked at the man with a bit more interest. He was not as drunk as he seemed, and his eyes and mind were quick. His count of the Kislevites was accurate. Felix kept his expression bland.

  ‘Urgent business,’ he said.

  ‘Must be,’ said the man.

  ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘This and that. Itchy feet, a desire to see what was beyond the next hilltop, some family problems.’

  ‘Family problems?’

  ‘A dispute with my brothers over an inheritance. I needed to put some distance between myself and the ancestral manor.’ The man spoke confidingly, and flashed a quick, calculating look at Felix.

  He seemed to think that by sharing a confidence, he would get Felix to do the same. Felix had encountered men with such a manner before, in the underworlds of Altdorf and Nuln. Most of them had been professional informers. ‘You know how it is?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Felix. ‘I always got on well with my brothers.’

  ‘It’s a bad thing when kin fall out over an inheritance,’ said the man. He gave a long practiced sigh, but he did not look at all bothered.

  ‘I imagine so,’ said Felix. ‘I mean it must be bad to bring a man like yourself to this out of the way place at this time of the year.’

  The man’s nervous gaze flickered around the room. He looked down at the counter-top and started drawing circles with his fingertip. ‘I count myself lucky that I got here,’ he said in an ominous tone.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you,’ he said. ‘If you’re going south you will want to hear it.’

  ‘Give me a hint.’

  ‘The undying are on the move,’ whispered the stranger, in a portentous manner.

  ‘Really?’ said Felix ironically. ‘Tell me something everyone doesn’t already know.’

  The stranger smirked. ‘Ghouls are gathering in the forests. The old castle at Drakenhof has been reoccupied. I saw strange lights flickering in the windows as I passed. We saw the lights in the woods and thought we might be granted shelter for the night. In this cold, any place is better than a tent. But when I saw those lights I thought differently.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘The lads over there at the table were with me. We were all travelling together. Safety in numbers is a good maxim but never more so than in Sylvania at a time like this.’

  Felix looked over at the group the stranger had indicated. They were a rough looking crowd, down at heel mercenaries by the looks of them. He hadn’t seen such a fine collection of cauliflower ears, broken noses and missing teeth since he left Karak Kadrin, the city of Slayers.

  ‘They don’t look to be the sort of men to be scared off by a few lights,’ said Felix. Quite the contrary, he thought, they looked exactly the type to be drawn to them to see if they could rob anybody in the vicinity.

  ‘You would have been scared if you saw them, and maybe even your Slayer friends too. Those lights were the work of evil magic, I have no doubt whatsoever.’

  ‘You’re an expert on evil magic then,’ said Felix.

  ‘There’s no need to mock, friend. Anybody could have told these lights were the work of something wicked. They glowed green and sputtered, went out and then started to glow all over again. They seemed to float through the woods.’

  Felix thought this sounded fairly convincing when compared to his own experience but he kept a disbelieving look on his face. ‘When was this then?’

  ‘Three nights ago.’

  Felix nodded. That would be the night Max said the spell linking him to the Eye of Khemri was broken. There was a pattern here, even if the stranger knew nothing about it. Maybe he should make the man recount his tale to the wizard. He decided to tell Max himself and wait and see what the wizard said.

  ‘So you’re saying avoid Drakenhof keep,’ said Felix.

  ‘Like the plague. How about that beer then?’

  Felix saw the barman looking at him. He nodded.

  ‘This is going to be good,’ said the stranger.

&n
bsp; ‘What did the tailor’s dummy want?’ asked Gotrek, a little too loudly, as Felix set down the beers. Felix recounted the man’s tale in a low voice.

  ‘I think we’ll be visiting this keep,’ said the Slayer. Snorri Nosebiter nodded enthusiastic approval.

  ‘I knew you were going to say that,’ said Felix.

  ‘It fits,’ said Max. He had listened intently as Felix finished the barfly’s tale. Felix got up and walked over to the window. It was shuttered against the chill. He listened for a moment anyway then glanced around the room. It was surprisingly well furnished for such an out of the way place, although all the furniture looked ancient. The bed was a four poster carved with disturbing-looking dragons. The wardrobe was big and heavy and reminded him too much of a coffin.

  Max sat on a claw-footed chair and regarded him with a clear-eyed gaze.

  ‘I imagine Krieger would want to cast any spells in what had once been a place of power filled with dark magic, and Drakenhof is said to be that. And that was the very night when my spell was broken. A suitably potent and far-ranging spell might manifest itself with a display of lights such as he described.’

  ‘It all fits a bit too well, don’t you think?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Max.

  ‘I mean, what are the chances that this fellow downstairs just happened to be passing the keep with his mates on the very night this occurred, and then just happened to be here tonight to tell us about it?’

  ‘Such coincidences do happen,’ said Max. ‘But I see what you mean.’

  ‘Coincidences, Max? Come on. It’s the dead of winter. Why would someone of his sort even be on the road? If he really were what he claimed then he’d have found a nice tavern somewhere in Middenheim to hole up for the winter, and you’d need a big spade to dig him out. I tell you, I didn’t like his look at all. He was a weasel, and I’ve seen his sort before.’

  Max had the tact not to ask where. Instead he stroked his beard for a moment and then drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

  ‘You think maybe Krieger sent him? That he’s laying a false scent to get us off his trail?’