by Warhammer
He was suddenly very hungry. There was a knock on the door and he realised the sounds of his awakening had been noticed.
‘Come in!’ he shouted.
Varek entered. ‘Glad to see you’re up. Uncle Borek wants to see you. You’re to come to breakfast in his study. Hungry?’
‘I could eat a horse.’
‘I don’t think it will come to that,’ Varek said.
Felix laughed – then from the expression on the dwarf’s face he realised that Varek wasn’t joking.
It was a comfortable room, which reminded Felix of his father’s study. Books lined three walls, embossed spines showing Reikspiel script and dwarfish runes. Scroll racks filled some shelves. A huge map of the northern Old World, covered in pins and small flags, draped all of the fourth wall. The northernmost parts of the world showed symbols for cities and mountains and rivers in an area that Felix had never seen shown on any human map, and which he realised must have been long swallowed by the Chaos Wastes. A massive desk in the centre of the study was drowning beneath a sea of letters and scrolls and maps and paperweights.
Behind the desk sat the oldest dwarf Felix had ever seen. His huge, long beard was forked and reached all the way to the floor before being looped back up into his belt. The crown of his head was bald. Wings of snowy white hair framed his face, which was lined with deep furrows of age in the tough leathery skin. The eyes that peered out from behind the thick pince nez glasses twinkled like those of a youth, and at once Felix discerned a family resemblance to Varek.
‘Borek Forkbeard, of the line of Grimnar, at your service and your clan’s,’ the dwarf said, advancing from behind the desk. Felix saw that he was so bowed as to be almost hunch-backed and walked only with the aid of a stout, iron-shod staff. ‘Excuse me if I don’t bow. I am not as flexible as I once was.’
Felix bowed and introduced himself.
‘I must thank you for your aid in the battle last night,’ Borek said, ‘and for saving my nephew.’
Felix was going to say that he had only fought to save himself, but somehow that did not seem very appropriate.
‘I only did what any man would under the circumstances,’ he managed to force himself to say.
Borek laughed. ‘I think not, my young friend. Few of Sigmar’s people remember the old debts and the old bonds these days. And few indeed can fight like you do, if my nephew is to be believed.’
‘Perhaps he exaggerates.’
‘Few dwarfs speak anything but the truth, Herr Jaeger. You are making a serious accusation when you say such a thing.’
‘I… I did not mean to say…’ Felix stammered, then realised from the look in the old dwarf’s eye that he was teasing him. ‘I simply meant that…’
‘Do not worry. I will not mention this to my nephew. Now you must be hungry. Why do you not join the others to eat? After that there are serious matters to be discussed. Very serious matters indeed.’
Breakfast lay spread across the table in the adjoining chamber. Huge ham hocks lay on plates of wrought steel. Monstrous slabs of cheese formed monuments to gluttony. Massive loaves of dwarf waybread, dark and yeasty, made mountain ranges across the middle of the spread. The smell of beer filled the air from the barrel that had already been broached. It came as no surprise to Felix, to see Gotrek and Snorri squatting down by the massive fire, swilling ale and cramming food into their mouths like they had just heard news of an imminent famine.
Varek watched them as if they were about to perform new prodigies of valour at any moment. His leather-bound book lay close at hand just in case he needed to record them. He wore new glasses of a style Felix now realised had been copied from his uncle’s.
Another dwarf was also present, one whom Felix did not recognise and who did not immediately move forward to make his introductions in the dwarfish fashion. He glared at Felix suspiciously, as if expecting him to steal the cutlery. Ignoring his glares, Felix walked up to the table and helped himself to food. It was among the best he had ever tasted, and he wasted no time in saying so.
‘Best wash it down with some ale, young Felix,’ Snorri suggested. ‘It tastes even better then.’
‘It’s a bit early in the day for that,’ Felix said.
‘It’s after noon,’ Gotrek corrected.
‘You’ve slept through two watches, young Felix,’ Snorri said.
‘A minute wasted is like a copper spent,’ grumbled the dwarf Felix did not recognise. He turned to regard him. He saw a dwarf shorter than most, and broader than most too. His beard was long and black; his hair was close cut and parted in the middle. His eyes were keen and piercing. His severe black tunic and britches while obviously well made were old and threadbare. His high boots looked old but well-polished. Metal segs protected the heels from wear and tear. He was portly and there was a fleshiness about his face which reminded Felix of his father and other rich merchants he had known. There was a suggestion to it of large meals eaten in well-appointed guildhalls where serious business was discussed. The dwarf’s hands flexed at his belt as if constantly checking to see whether his rather flat purse was still there.
Felix bowed to him. ‘Felix Jaeger at your service, and your clan’s,’ he said.
‘Olger Olgersson at yours,’ the dwarf said before bowing back. ‘You wouldn’t be connected with the Jaegers of Altdorf, by any chance would you, young man?’
Felix felt momentarily embarrassed. He was the black sheep of the family after all, and had left the family home under a cloud after killing a man in a duel. He forced himself to meet Olgersson’s gaze calmly and said, ‘My father owns the house.’
‘I have done good business with them in the past. Your father has a good head for business – for a human.’
The near contempt in the dwarf’s tone made Felix bristle but he kept calm, reminding himself that he was a stranger here. It would not do simply to take offence in a keep full of touchy dwarfs who may all be this stranger’s kin.
‘He’d have to be, if he made any money dealing with you, Olger Goldgrabber,’ Gotrek said unexpectedly.
‘Olger is a famous miser,’ Snorri said cheerfully. ‘Snorri knows that when he takes a coin from his purse the king’s head blinks.’
The two Slayers cackled uproariously at this ancient joke. Felix wondered how much they had already drunk. Olgersson’s face went red. He looked as if he would like to take offence but did not dare.
Obviously neither Gotrek or Snorri cared about his wealth, his influence or his kin.
‘No one ever got rich by spending money,’ he said huffily and turned and stalked back into the other room.
‘You should be kinder to Herr Olgersson,’ Varek said. ‘He is the one funding this expedition.’
Gotrek sputtered out a mouthful of beer in astonishment. His head swivelled to inspect the young scholar as if he had just claimed that gold grew on trees. ‘The greatest tightfist in the dwarf kingdom is giving you gold. Tell me more about this!’
‘My uncle will, in just a few moments.’
Felix felt a mixture of trepidation and curiosity as they filed into Borek Forkbeard’s study. He was curious to hear what had drawn all these disparate dwarfs to this out-of-the-way place. He was worried by the prospect of where this whole thing might lead. Looking out the window at those mighty industrial structures, recalling the ferocity of the skaven’s attempt to take possession of them, and seeing the huge assemblage of craftsmanship and skill which had been put into place here made it difficult for him to imagine that the dwarfs were not serious about their mysterious purpose. It was all too easy to imagine how Gotrek and himself might be drawn into it.
Borek looked up at him with twinkling eyes. Olger stood in the far corner, swivelling a globe of the world with his hands, his back ostentatiously turned to the party. The old scholar grinned at them, and bade them all take a seat. Since the dwarf armchairs were too close to the ground for Felix he remained standing.
There was a moment’s silence while Borek consulted some of
the papers on his desk and made an annotation in runic with a quill pen. Then he coughed to clear his throat just like Felix’s lecturers used to back at the University of Altdorf and began to speak.
‘I am going to find the lost citadel of Karag Dum,’ he said without preamble. There was a challenging look in his eye when he glanced over at Gotrek.
‘You cannot,’ Gotrek said flintily. There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. ‘We tried all those years ago. We failed. The Wastes are impassable. Nothing can survive there sane and unchanged. You know that as well as I do. ‘
‘I believe we have found a way.’
Gotrek snorted then shook his head in disbelief. ‘There is no way. We tried to force a passage with the best armed and equipped expedition ever assembled for the purpose. You know how many of us survived. You, me, Snorri, maybe a handful of others. Mostly dead now or mad. I tell you it cannot be done. And you know how many died in the expeditions before ours.’
‘You did not always think that way, Gotrek, son of Gurni.’
‘I had not then seen the Chaos Wastes.’
‘Then you will not even listen to what I have to say?’
‘No, no. I will listen, old one. Go ahead, tell me what crazy scheme you have in mind. Perhaps it will give me a good laugh.’
There was a shocked silence in the room. Felix suspected that dwarfs were not used to hearing venerable loremasters spoken to in that way. To break the tension, he dared to ask, ‘Why do you want to go to this place? What’s so special about it?’
All eyes in the room turned to him. Eventually Borek spoke: ‘Karag Dum was one of the greatest cities of our people, the mightiest in all the northern lands. It was lost over two centuries ago during the last great incursion of Chaos, just before the reign of the one you call Magnus the Pious. In the great Book of Grudges, on page three thousand, five hundred and forty-two of volume four hundred and sixty-nine, you will find a record of the debt of blood we owe to the foul followers of the Dark Powers. In the ancillary codicils, we find records of all the names of those who fell, of all the clans which were wiped out. The last message we had was that Thangrim Firebeard had led his brave hosts in a doomed defence of the citadel against a mighty host which came from the north as the Chaos Wastes advanced. Since then, there has been no word from Karag Dum, nor has any dwarf from our lands been able to reach the place.’
‘Why?’ Felix asked.
‘For the Chaos Wastes advanced and swallowed all the lands between Karag Dum and the Blackblood Pass.’
‘How can you know where to find it then?’
‘It was I who brought the last message from Karag Dum,’ Borek said, bowing his head sadly. ‘The city was once my home, Herr Jaeger. I am kin to King Thangrim himself. During those last dreadful days, our foes had summoned a mighty daemon, and our need for aid was great. We drew lots to see who would carry the word of our need to our kinfolk. I and my brothers were chosen. We left the citadel by secret routes, known to but a few. Only myself and my brother, Varig, Varek’s father, made it through the Wastes. It was a hard trek and not one I wish to recall at this moment. When we reached the south, we found that war raged there too and no aid was to be had. Then we found there was no way back.’
Was it possible that this dwarf was so old, Felix thought? He certainly looked ancient and Felix knew that dwarfs lived longer than men. Even so, it was an astonishing idea that this dwarf was at least ten times his age, perhaps more. Then another thought struck him.
‘If the Wastes are so deadly, how could you make it through and then not get back?’ Felix asked.
‘I see you are a sceptic, Herr Jaeger. I must convince you. Well, let me just say that in the days of our escape, the Wastes had only just advanced and the influence of Chaos was not so strong. By the time we tried to return, the fell power of Chaos had grown great indeed and the land was impassable. Now, if I have your permission to continue…’
Felix realised that he was interrupting the old dwarf, and making him go over ground that everybody else present seemed familiar with. He suddenly felt embarrassed. ‘Of course. Forgive me,’ he said.
‘Tell us of the treasure that was lost,’ Olgersson cut in.
Borek looked less than pleased by the second interruption. He cast a quick glare at the merchant. Felix caught the glint which had appeared in the miser’s eye. It was something akin to madness and Felix knew enough about dwarfs now to recognise it for what it was: gold fever. Suddenly it was no mystery why Olger was putting up money to fund this quest. He was in the throes of the near-insane thirst for gold which sometimes overtook even the sanest of dwarfs.
‘Yes, the huge hoard of Karag Dum was lost when the city fell, and all the treasure was lost. And of all the treasures that were lost, the most precious were the Hammer of Fate, the mighty weapon born by King Thangrim himself, and the Axe of the Runemasters.’
At this point, Borek turned and looked at Felix. ‘We are talking of such things that it is moot only for a dwarf or a Dwarf Friend to know, Felix Jaeger. Gotrek, son of Gurni, has spoken for you, but now I must ask you for your word that you will speak of nothing discussed here with any but a dwarf of the true blood or with another Dwarf Friend. If you feel that you cannot give your word on this, we will understand, but we must ask you to leave this gathering.’
As if a light had been shone upon him, Felix suddenly felt that he had reached a boundary, one which if he crossed would significantly change his life. He felt that if he agreed to stay he was in some way, tacitly committing himself to whatever mad scheme these dwarfs were undertaking. At the same time, he had to admit to a fascination with what was being discussed, with this tale of lost cities, ancient battles, old grudges and vast treasures. He certainly was curious – and surely there could be no harm in simply listening.
‘You have my word,’ he said, almost before he realised he had spoken.
‘Very good. Then I will continue.’ Somehow Felix had expected something more. He had expected to be asked to swear an oath or maybe seal the bond in blood as he had done with Gotrek during that epic drinking bout. This simple taking of his word at face value seemed altogether too casual for one about to be initiated into the lost secrets of an Elder Race. Something of his astonishment must have shown in his face, for Borek smiled at him.
‘Your given word is enough for us, Felix Jaeger. Among our people, a warrior’s word is a sacred thing, stronger than stone, more enduring than mountains. We ask for nothing more. If you will not hold to it, what use are written contracts, oaths sworn before altars or anything else?’
Felix realised that disagreement would only reflect badly on him, so he kept quiet while the old scholar continued to speak.
‘Yes, the Hammer of Fate and the Runemaster’s Axe, perhaps the most potent of the artefacts bequeathed to us by the Ancestor-Gods were lost to us, and with them a mighty portion of our ancient power and heritage. When Karag Dum fell, we believed it lost forever. The howling Chaos Wastes flowed over the ancient lands like a sea of corruption and buried the ancient peaks, and we wailed and gnashed our teeth in dismay and resigned ourselves to our loss. We thought them lost forever, and so it seemed for these two centuries.’
‘And they remain lost,’ Gotrek said grimly. ‘And always will be. I repeat that there is no way through the Wastes.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. After we failed in our last attempt, Gotrek, I renewed my search through the lorehalls and libraries. In the master lorehall of Karaz-a-Karak I searched through the oldest galleries, pulled dust-encrusted tomes from shelves where they had lain mouldering for millennia. I recorded every tale and mention of survivors who claimed to have visited the Wastes. I gained access to the forbidden vaults of the Temple of Sigmar in Altdorf. In their records, taken from the confessions of wracked heretics across the centuries, I found references to runes, spells and talismans that would protect against the influence of Chaos. I was determined to succeed this time. And I believe I have found the man who can make them.’
/> ‘And who would that be?’ The note of mockery had diminished somewhat in the Slayer’s voice.
‘The man you will meet soon enough, Gotrek. He has convinced me that his enchantments work. I give you my sworn word that I believe they will shield us.’
‘For how long can you protect those who travel in the Chaos Wastes from madness and mutation?’
‘Weeks, maybe. Certainly days.’
‘Not long enough. It would take months to cross those wastelands to Karag Dum.’
‘Aye, Gotrek – on foot, or in armoured wagons as we tried to use last time. But there is another way. Makaisson’s way.’
‘By airship?’
‘Yes, by airship.’
‘You are mad!’
‘No – not at all. Listen to me. I have studied the phenomenon of the Chaos Wastes extensively. I know much more now than we did then. Most of the mutations are caused by warpstone dust contaminating the food and the water or being breathed into unprotected lungs. It is that which drives folk mad and twists their shapes and forms.’
‘Aye, and it is present in the very sands of the Waste and in the clouds which rise from it. It is in the dust and the sandstorms and in the wells.’
‘But what if we were to fly above the clouds?’
Gotrek paused for a moment and appeared to consider this. ‘You would have to descend to take bearings, to check landmarks.’
‘The airship will be sealed with screens of fine mesh. There will be portholes and filters of the type you see on the submersibles of our fleets.’
‘The airship might be forced down by storms, or winds or mechanical failure.’
‘The amulets would protect the crew until repairs could be effected or the storm cleared.’
‘Perhaps repair would be impossible?’
‘A risk, certainly, but an acceptable one. The amulets would allow survivors to at least attempt a march home.’
‘No airship could carry enough coal for its engines to make the journey without stopping.’
‘Makaisson has developed a new engine. It uses the black water instead of coal. It has the power to propel the airship and the fuel is light enough to make the journey.’