[Gotrek & Felix 11] - Shamanslayer

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  “Snorri wants it to be Witching Night now,” said Snorri.

  The comment brought Felix up short. “Wait,” he said. “What day is it?”

  Sir Teobalt looked up. “It is the twenty-first of Vorhexen — fasting day of Walhemar the Valiant.”

  Felix did a quick calculation in his head. “Then there are fourteen days until Hexensnacht. I don’t know where the beasts are going below the Talabec, but at the rate they’re moving they’ll never make it in time. It took us ten days from Ahlenhof, and we went by roads. They’re cutting every step through the deep woods.”

  Kat nodded. “It’s impossible.”

  “Nno,” moaned Ortwin.

  They turned back to him. The snow around where he lay was crimson with his blood.

  “Evrry changed man Urslak adds to the hrrd adds knowing,” said the squire through bubbles of red phlegm. “He sees our minds. He knew I would trry to come to you. He knows how to use the rrver.”

  “How to use the river?” said Sir Teobalt. “I don’t understand.”

  “The timbrr camp,” said Ortwin. “On the rivrr.”

  “Aye, I remember it,” said Teobalt, nodding. “We passed the night there.”

  “What has a timber camp got to do with it?” asked Rodi. “The beast has stopped making sense.”

  Felix gasped as understanding came to him. “Logs!” he cried. “Rafts! We saw them!”

  “What are you saying, manling?” asked Gotrek.

  Felix grunted with impatience. “Dwarfs seemed to have a blind spot for the uses of trees. The shaman means to float the stone down the river,” he said. “A few of those rafts we saw bound together, and he can move it at twice his speed. Maybe three times as fast. They’ll tow it down the Zufuhr like a barge.”

  “Yss,” said Ortwin from the ground. “Yss.”

  “But beastmen don’t know how to make boats,” said Rodi. “They can barely tie a rock to the end of a stick and call it a mace.”

  “Beastmen do not,” whispered Ortwin. “But beests who wrrr once men do. Urslak is…” He coughed, spilling blood down his furred chest. “Urslak is… rrrning.”

  Felix stared dully as Ortwin fell silent. A beastman who learned was a nightmare — the doom of the human race. It had been the beasts’ savagery and lack of discipline, more so than the superiority of the defences of man, that had stopped them from taking over the world. If the monsters began to learn to use wagons and boats and developed organisation and tactics, there would be no stopping them.

  “Anything else, beast?” asked Gotrek, looking down at Ortwin.

  The changed squire looked up through dimming eyes. “Bewrre… bewrre the axe of Gargorath the God-Touched,” he said. “It… it eats what it kills.”

  “That is all?”

  Ortwin nodded and sank back. “I am rredy.”

  Gotrek raised his axe, but Sir Teobalt stepped forwards.

  “Wait, Slayer,” he said. “It should be I that does this.”

  Gotrek nodded and stepped back as the old templar stood over his former squire. “I can offer you no salvation, squire,” said Teobalt. “A beast is beyond Sigmar’s mercy. But… but I give you my thanks. Though you have fallen, you sacrificed your life to return and warn us. It was a brave thing, bravely done.”

  “Thank you, srr,” said Ortwin, and there seemed to be tears in his bestial eyes — though it might only have been blood. “Sigmrr blsss you.”

  Sir Teobalt lifted Karaghul with both hands. “May you find in death the peace you lost in life.”

  The changed boy closed his eyes. The sword came down. Kat turned away and pressed her face against Felix’s chest as the shaggy horned head dropped softly into the snow. He pulled her close, stroking her hair as he grieved.

  The squire had been a fool sometimes, and too concerned with honour and doing heroic deeds for his own good — or the good of his companions on more than one occasion — but at the same time that honour had proved stronger than the animal instincts that had come with his new shape, and he had died to maintain it. It was doubtful that anyone would write any ballads about a youth that turned into a beast, but he was a hero nonetheless. He might very well have saved the Empire. That is, he might have if the rest of them could warn Altdorf in time.

  “I must go south at once,” said Sir Teobalt.

  “Not alone, you won’t,” said Gotrek.

  “Aye,” said Rodi. “We’re coming too.”

  “Snorri is ready,” said Snorri. “Where are we going?”

  “Is there a boat?” asked Felix. It seemed the only way to catch up to the beasts.

  Doktor Vinck shook his head. “There is not. They were all taken by the soldiers and the refugees when news of the herd reached us.” He frowned. “There is one at the lumber camp, or there was. Perhaps the beasts have taken it.”

  “Unless they haven’t reached it yet,” said Kat, lifting her head from Felix’s chest. “If we take the river road, we may beat them.”

  “We must try it!” said Sir Teobalt. “We will leave immediately.”

  Felix, Kat, Sir Teobalt and the three slayers left an hour later-on a wagon to which they hitched four horses for greater speed — with Teobalt’s Machtig tied behind. Though all were weary from the long day of preparing and defending the village, there was no alternative. They had to get ahead of the beastmen, and waiting until morning might make it impossible for them to catch up.

  Doktor Vinck thanked them profusely for saving Bauholz, and gave them food and drink for the road. He begged Kat to be careful, and reminded Sir Teobalt to apply the ointment he had given him three times a day to his wounds, which were not yet fully healed, then waved goodbye to them until the wooden doors of the gate closed with a hollow boom.

  Felix and Kat sat side by side in the back of the wagon as they rode out of town, alone — or at least nearly alone — for the first time since he had rescued her from Milo. Sir Teobalt, saying that he had done the least in the recent battle and would therefore take point, had unhitched Machtig and rode well ahead of the wagon, and the three slayers sat on the buckboard, Gotrek driving the horses while Rodi and Snorri kept watch.

  Felix took a deep breath. This might be the best opportunity they would have for days.

  He put a hand on her leg. “Kat,” he said.

  She turned and smiled up at him, and all the words went out of his head. He just stared.

  Kat stared back, and, as the silence stretched and the seconds ticked by, she covered his hand with hers, then lifted it and pulled it over her shoulders so that she could lean against him underneath it. He pulled her tight and all at once they were kissing, long and deep, and the freezing night was suddenly as warm as a Tilean spring.

  After a moment Felix pulled back, holding her away from him. “Wait, Kat,” he said, panting. “Wait.”

  She scowled at him. “Does it still feel wrong to you, then, Felix? I am no longer seven.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know. That’s… that’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Then what?” she asked, her chin thrust out.

  He hesitated again, not sure how to begin, but finally he spoke. “I realised, when we were fighting Milo, that… that I cared more for you than I have for anyone for a long long time, and that all my… misgivings were gone.”

  Kat dropped her eyes at that, smiling shyly.

  “But…”

  She looked up again, her brow lowering once more. “But?” she said, warningly.

  Felix sighed and sat back. “Kat, I don’t have a proper life. I have no employment, no home, no money. I follow the Slayer into certain death time and time again, and my vow to him means I’ll keep doing it until he dies.” He looked sideways at her. “I’ve got nothing to give you. Not even the certainty that I’ll be here tomorrow.”

  Kat smiled and let out a relieved breath. “Is that all?” she said.

  “Isn’t that everything?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing, Felix. Nothing.” She leaned again
st him, resting her head on his chest. “When Papa trained me to be a scout, he taught me the first rule of the Drakwald — the rule that every woodsman and beast-hunter lives by.”

  “What rule is that?” asked Felix.

  “Today is all there is,” she said. She circled her arms around him, looking out over the tailgate of the cart. “We are all like you, Felix. No home, no money, and death always only an eye-blink away. None of us knows if we’ll be here tomorrow, so we live by that rule.”

  “Today is all there is,” Felix repeated.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and raised her head and looked into his eyes, her lips parting. “Today is all there is.”

  Felix lowered his mouth to hers, closing his eyes. He could feel her breath on his lips. He could feel her straining upwards.

  “Easy, Machtig!” said Sir Teobalt’s voice.

  Felix and Kat jerked apart guiltily and looked up. The old templar was pulling Machtig around the back of the wagon and trying to dismount while the horse skittered sideways. He smiled at them. “Wilful beast. He has been too long without a bit in his mouth.”

  Felix and Kat untangled themselves as Sir Teobalt let himself down and tied the warhorse to the tailgate, then climbed up into the wagon between them. “I am too weary after the day’s events to remind him of his training,” he said, unbuckling his breastplate. “No matter. I will have plenty of opportunity in the days ahead.”

  “No doubt,” said Felix, cursing the knight inwardly. Today might be all there was, but if Sir Teobalt was going to make himself a fixture, Felix and Kat would still have to wait until tomorrow.

  The old templar looked from him to Kat and back with an odd expression on his gaunt face, then removed his breastplate and set it on the floor of the cart. “Sigmar watch you whilst you rest, friends,” he said, then laid back on the breastplate like it was a pillow, folded his hands across his chest and closed his eyes.

  Felix sighed and gave Kat an exasperated look. She smirked back at him across Sir Teobalt’s body and stifled a laugh, then shrugged. “Well, goodnight, Felix,” she said. “Pleasant dreams.”

  “I doubt it,” growled Felix, then flopped down and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as the old knight began to snore.

  Felix dozed on and off, but unsurprisingly, he did not truly sleep. The bumping of the wagon and Teobalt’s snoring, and Felix’s frustrated thoughts of what might have been had the damned interfering old buzzard not been there didn’t allow it. Towards morning, a particularly hard jolt woke him from a dream of Kat skinning out of her furs and stretching naked beside him, to find Sir Teobalt looking at him with thoughtful eyes. Felix blinked at him sleepily. He was a jarring sight after his thoughts of Kat.

  The templar kept staring.

  “Are… are you well, Sir Teobalt?” Felix mumbled, as politely as he could manage.

  “I have done you a disservice, Herr Jaeger,” he said after a long hesitation.

  You certainly have, thought Felix, but all he said was, “Have you?”

  “I would have spoken of it earlier, but…” The templar looked over his shoulder at Kat. “It is a private matter between us.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” said Felix.

  “You know of what I speak, Herr Jaeger.” Teobalt sighed and lowered his eyes. “I could not allow myself to believe you when you told me of Ortwin’s fate and the fate of my fellow templars. I… I see now that you told the truth.”

  “It was a hard thing to believe,” said Felix.

  “Aye.” The templar’s brow furrowed. “It pains me to think that such good men fell so far from the true faith that they could be twisted like this.”

  Felix paused. Teobalt still didn’t seem to understand. He was still looking to place blame. “Forgive me, sir,” he said finally. “But I’m not sure it is a matter of falling from faith. I think perhaps the shaman’s power is just too strong. I wonder if even an arch lector could resist it.”

  “You say this to hearten me,” said the templar. “To allow me to think better of my brothers.”

  “I say it because I believe it,” said Felix. “I have seen the power of the stone. Lord Ilgner was a good man. He had fought the hordes and the herds with all his heart, and yet he changed with the rest.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Teobalt, still not looking up.

  He sank into a long silence, and Felix began to drift off again, thinking that the conversation was finished.

  Then just as his head began dropping to his chest, the knight spoke again.

  “You are an honourable man, Herr Jaeger,” he said.

  Felix raised his eyes again and blinked. “I am?”

  “Aye,” said Sir Teobalt. “You have done what I asked of you. You have discovered the fate of the templars of the Order of the Fiery Heart and, though you knew that I would not care to hear it, you told me the truth of that fate.”

  Felix opened his mouth to speak, but the templar held up a hand.

  “There still remains the task of recovering the regalia of the order, but I wonder if it is not lost forever. Or perhaps we will find it when we find the beastmen again. I know not.” He sat up, hissing and grimacing at his stiffness. “Nevertheless, you have been true to your promise, and you do not deserve the punishment I meted out to you.”

  He reached down and picked up Karaghul, which he had laid beside him as he slept, then held it out to Felix. “Your sword, Herr Jaeger,” he said. “And whether we find the regalia or not, you may carry it, as I had promised. You have already earned it.”

  Felix’s eyes moved from Teobalt’s face to the sword and back. He almost didn’t dare to reach for it, for fear it would be some kind of strange joke and the templar would pull it back. It was not a joke, and when Felix held out his hands, Teobalt laid the sword in them and inclined his head.

  “Wear it with honour, Herr Jaeger,” he said. “As I know you have until now.”

  “Thank you, Sir Teobalt,” said Felix, shaking as he laid the sword at his side and ran a fond hand along its hilt. “I will not disappoint you. I promise.”

  When Felix next awoke, it was to dwarfen cursing.

  He sat up, groaning and stiff, and looked around as Kat and Sir Teobalt yawned and grumbled beside him. It was the dark grey of dawn, and a heavy mist swirled about the wagon. Nevertheless, he could see why Gotrek and Rodi were cursing.

  They all climbed down stiffly from the wagon and looked around as they shook out their arms and legs. They were in the middle of the logging camp they had stopped at on their way north with Reidle the merchant, but the camp wasn’t there anymore. It had been levelled — the walls, the tents, the short docks that had nee stuck out into the river like stubby thumbs, all crushed and shaken down by the hooves of ten thousand beastmen. The rafts and stacks of logs were gone — either taken by the beastmen or fallen into the river and gashed away. For as far as the eye could see in every direction the muddy snow was covered by their heavy black prints. It looked like a parchment written over and over with letters by some mad author who couldn’t stop his hand.

  “They’ve been and gone,” said Kat, staring around bleakly.

  “Aye, and only hours ago, by the smell of it,” said Rodi, spitting.

  “Snorri thinks they could have waited,” said Snorri.

  “There’s our boat,” grunted Gotrek, nodding down the river.

  Felix followed his gaze. Through the mist he could see a little riverboat sunk to its gunwales in the water just south of the timber camp. It had crashed into a big rock that rose from the side of the stream and shattered its prow. He wondered if the timber men had tried to escape in it, or if the beasts had made some ham-fisted attempt to pilot it. Whatever the case, it was beyond repair.

  “Get back on the wagon,” said Gotrek. “We won’t be sailing.”

  “Thank Grungni for that,” said Rodi with a shiver. “Boats are for elves.”

  SIXTEEN

  The trail of the herd was one of destruction and desol
ation. The road that paralleled the river was churned into a soup of mud and snow and the dung of ten thousand beastmen, and littered with abandoned wagons, mutilated corpses and half-eaten carcasses. The village of Leer was a shattered ghost town, its walls knocked flat and its buildings torn down, and entirely empty. There were a few corpses, but too few. Felix hoped they had fled into the woods, but he doubted it. More likely they had become the latest victims of the stone’s mutating magic and had joined the herd, adding another few hundred to the shaman’s endless train of followers.

  He dreaded what would happen when the beastmen reached more civilised areas. He didn’t see how anything could stop them, and as the wagon neared Ahlenhof after several days of hard, hurried travel, Felix feared the worst.

  But when they came around the bend in the river and saw the town on the opposite bank, it appeared untouched. As they got closer, they saw why. The bridge that had spanned the Zufuhr had been demolished. Only the jagged stumps of the stone piers stuck up out of the water, all the rest had collapsed.

  Hunching against the downpour of a cold, heavy rain, teams of labourers were hard at work fishing giant blocks of granite out of the freezing water and winching them up the banks to where foremen and engineers surveyed the damage on a promontory turned to a muddy hill by a million gouging hoof prints. A long line of carts and wagons and carriages that had come up the river road from Altdorf was stopped at the fallen span, and the drivers and passengers were milling about in the pouring rain, complaining to guardsmen from Ahlenhof and arguing amongst each other.

  “What happened here?” Felix asked a young guard as they pulled up near the other wagons. “Did the herd tear the bridge down?”

  The guard shook his head. “No,” he said wearily. “The city did, for protection.” He pointed to the line of stopped traffic. “If you want to cross to Ahlenhof, you’ll have to go to the end of the queue. We’ve set up a ferry. Move along please.” It sounded like he’d been saying the same thing all day.

  “We shall cross to Ahlenhof immediately, guardsman,” said Sir Teobalt, stepping down from the back of the wagon and limping forwards with his head high. “I have news of greatest import for your mayor and for Emil von Kotzebue, your baron, concerning the herd.”