Gotrek and Felix - Road of Skulls

by Josh Reynolds

  A pillar of blood had risen from the dead beast’s carcass, coruscating reds and browns that shimmered with buried images. Grettir dragged his talons through the shimmering column, painting the air with great sweeps of blood that did not splatter or fall. At his gesture, the bones of the carcass punctured the flesh and rose with splintering cracks and crunches, forming a floating ring that spun about the column of blood like a halo, and intestines draped over the broken bones like decorations. The creature’s hide ripped and spread like a carpet and faces that hissed and babbled in a hundred different tongues rose on the mangled hide like blisters. The bones cracked and shed layers, unravelling like scrolls as strange writing was scratched into them by unseen talons.

  Grettir stepped onto the carpet of faces and tapped the bone-scrolls with the tips of his fingers, and then sank his arms into the column of blood. His hands moved and worked at something unseen and faces and words formed in the viscous liquid, showing distant events.

  He saw his army crash like a wave against the high walls of the outer fortress that barred their path, surging and retreating as the dwarfs met them and forced them back. He saw cramped tunnels. He saw a one-eyed dwarf, and an axe cutting contrails of fire in the dark. He saw it all and he let loose an anticipatory breath.

  ‘Is he the one?’ he said. ‘The Doom-Seeker?’

  Grettir dropped his hands and the blood slopped downwards, splashing over everything. Bones fell and the faces diminished with soft, lingering sighs. ‘Who can say, cousin?’ he said. He looked at Garmr. ‘Why not ask your god yourself, cousin, since you two are so close–’

  Garmr’s hand slashed out and Grettir toppled backwards, falling into the mess of the dead beast. ‘Even my tolerance has limits, Grettir. There are sorcerers aplenty, should I require one.’ Before Grettir could reply, Garmr turned away and stalked towards his tent, his mind occupied by the image of the one-eyed Slayer.

  Was he the one?

  Yes. Yes, he had to be. Why else would he have seen him in the augury? Yes. He was the one. Garmr would take his skull. And then the road would be complete and the world would drown in War Everlasting.

  ‘Skulls for the Skull Throne,’ he said.

  Karak Kadrin,

  the Walls of Baragor’s Watch

  Outside the palace, the air had darkened. More smoke, augmented by the crackle of flames. As he stepped away from the doors, Felix saw more dwarfs heading for the walls. The tide of refugees seemed undiminished, and he feared what would happen if the wall fell before they were through the last portcullis. It would be a slaughter of monumental proportions. ‘How are they going to get them all across in time?’ he said.

  ‘We will buy them the time in blood,’ King Ironfist said, almost cheerfully. ‘That is what dwarfs do best, Felix Jaeger. We sell lives to hold back the inevitable.’ His hammerers had formed up around him in a phalanx and they started towards the stairs that would take them to the parapet. ‘It will be glorious, manling, glorious!’

  ‘I haven’t seen Ungrim that happy in a long time,’ Gotrek said grimly.

  ‘Well, he is a Slayer,’ Felix said.

  ‘Aye,’ Gotrek said, after a moment. ‘Let’s go, manling, there’s no sense in letting him have all of the fun.’

  ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ Felix said, as he followed the Slayer. The parapet was crowded with dwarfs, most of whom were sitting down, resting after the stresses of the last attack. Grudge throwers and bolt throwers sat silent and ready, and keen-eyed crossbowmen picked off Chaos marauders who got too close to the wall. On the wide landings set below the parapet at regular intervals, dwarfs gathered around cooking fires and drank ale and beer and gambled, even as warning horns sounded and others struggled to get back to their posts.

  Biter was the centre of attention in one of the latter groups, flinging bone dice with more energy than skill and crowing over every roll whether it was successful or not. Felix watched the Slayer for a moment, wondering what shame crouched in him, driving him. Had he always been so boisterous, or was it, like Gotrek’s reticence, a facet of the life he had chosen?

  ‘They retreated into the cover of the lower wall after that last sortie, but they’re ready for another go, by the look of them,’ Biter called out as Gotrek and Felix climbed past him.

  ‘Good,’ Gotrek said loudly. ‘So am I.’

  Garagrim and his warriors were already atop the parapet, when they reached it, looking down at the heaving mass of Chaos marauders, who seemed less concerned with the enemy before them than each other. As Felix reached the top, he looked down. The Chaos forces had, for all intents and purposes, carved a canyon through the lower wall of Baragor’s Watch, steadily knocking holes in each section of wall and spilling through those gaps into the next ring of the fortress. They had paid for their methodical advance in oceans of blood, but such losses seemed only to have inflamed them, rather than sapping their courage.

  ‘What in Sigmar’s name are they doing?’ he said as he looked down. Below, Chaos marauders fought each other with as much fury as they’d shown the dwarfs. A closer look showed him that not all of them were involved, but only select groups. Champions, he supposed. ‘They’ll finish each other off at that rate,’ he muttered.

  ‘They’re followers of the Blood God, manling,’ Gotrek said, leaning over the parapet to watch. ‘When no enemy is at hand, they’ll tear their own guts out just to see some blood.’ The Slayer spat and turned away. ‘Like as not, they’re simply deciding who’ll lead the assault,’ he said.

  Felix didn’t reply. His attention had been caught by a heavily armoured man who stood on a collapsed section of the fourth wall and watched the sprawling combat playing out below him, his posture one of attentive satisfaction. Felix studied him. He was a big man, with a serpentine length of beard that hung down to his waist, the end capped with a round ball. His hair was loose and whipped around his head like a black halo in the breeze. His armour was crafted of thick, stained plates and his gauntlets rested on the haft of the large axe planted head-first on the wall between his feet.

  ‘Offhand, I’d say it’s him,’ he said, gesturing. Gotrek snorted.

  ‘Aye, likely you’re right.’ He peered at the distant champion and pursed his lips. ‘He’d make a fight, by the look of him.’

  ‘He’s mine, Gurnisson,’ Garagrim said, striding over to join them. He puffed out his chest. ‘I am War-Mourner of Karak Kadrin and it is only fitting that the leader of the enemy be my doom.’

  ‘If you get to him first, beardling, be my guest,’ Gotrek said, grinning insolently. The grin slid from his face as he looked back towards the fallen wall. As Gotrek spat a curse, Felix followed his gaze. A duo of heavy machines was being pulled through the gaps in the wall by a number of ogres. The brutes were heavily scarred and their limbs were chained together, and there were cruel-looking collars about their thick necks.

  Suddenly, the air was filled with a particular sort of tension. Every dwarf on the parapet, Slayer and clansman alike, had a look of intense loathing on their faces. Mutters and curses slipped quietly into the air. Felix looked from the dwarfs back to the devices, which he thought must be the war machines of the enemy. The engines were harsh-looking things, heavy with what he thought were unnecessary scalloped blades and scything edges. One was recognizably a cannon of some sort, while the second machine appeared to be some form of bolt thrower. The ogres pulling them had the dull look Felix associated with broken farm animals, beasts used to the lash and the chain. Regardless, they still looked fully capable of ripping a man’s head off with one twist of a meaty paw.

  Felix wondered what it was about the machines that had set the dwarfs off, but before he could even attempt to frame the question, the reason became obvious. Two squat figures stumped into view through the ruined section of third wall to join the machines. They wore coats of dark, burnished mail and cuirasses of complex design. Heavy helms sat on their squat heads, and great beards flared out from their jutting chins. One carried a he
avy glaive, while the other rested his palms on the butts of the two pistols holstered around his waist. Their faces were twisted into expressions of brutish malice and cold-blooded glee as they surveyed the obstacle before them.

  Felix felt a rush of horror fill him as he stared at the twisted mockeries of dwarf-kind. His mouth felt dry and he looked at Gotrek. The Slayer’s teeth were exposed in a snarl that conveyed the millennia-old grudge of the dwarfs for their corrupted kin. Felix had heard dark legends of such Chaos dwarfs, though he’d never attempted to broach the subject with Gotrek, thinking the former merely a slanderous myth and not wanting to antagonize the latter.

  ‘Gotrek,’ he said softly. ‘Are they–?’

  ‘The dawi zharr,’ Gotrek spat.

  As Felix watched in horrified fascination, the Chaos dwarfs saw to the placement of their war machines. A whip was uncoiled and snapped, directing the ogres. The cannon was a massive construct of iron and brass that seemed to growl and shake in its traces like a beast of prey as the ogres shifted it into position behind a bulwark of toppled stone. The great chains used to move it were then attached securely to the ground by iron stakes and the furnace attached to the rear was wrenched open by an ogre. A burst of predatory heat escaped from it, washing over the ogre and sending the poor beast into paroxysms of agony. It fell to the ground, its body cracked and blistered. The Chaos dwarf with the pistols stomped towards the groaning ogre and drew one of his weapons, an expression of annoyance flashing across his barbaric features even as he shot the brute in the head. At a barked command from the Chaos dwarf, the dead ogre was swiftly torn apart by his fellows, whose gleaming, sweat-streaked muscles bunched as they each grabbed a limb and twisted. Then each chunk was tossed into the waiting furnace. Felix looked away as more bodies, Chaos marauder and dwarf alike, followed.

  That there were masses of Chaos marauders between the cannon and the wall did not seem to concern the Chaos dwarfs. Steaming liquid dripped from the end of the cannon’s barrel and it melted the stone of the ground where it fell.

  The second device was smaller than the other, but Gotrek’s grunt of concern caught Felix’s attention. ‘Rockets,’ the Slayer said, scratching his beard. ‘No wonder they got through the walls so quickly.’

  ‘Aye, Gurnisson,’ Garagrim said. ‘They can clear a parapet with one of those.’

  ‘You should have led a sortie to destroy them when you had the chance,’ Gotrek spat. Garagrim flushed and half raised his axes.

  ‘We did,’ Ungrim said, bustling towards them, his axe balanced on his shoulder and the thumb of his free hand tucked into his belt. A cloak of dragon scales hung from his shoulders and his crown gleamed in the weak, smoky light of day. ‘But the dawi zharr can repair those devices of theirs as quickly as we can spike ’em. Not to mention that they’ve never brought them this close to our lines before today.’ The King of Karak Kadrin hawked up a gobbet of spit and sent it sailing over the parapet. ‘No, they want to be in at the kill now, the bastards.’

  ‘How long have you known that they were out there?’ Gotrek said, almost accusingly. Ungrim frowned.

  ‘Does it matter?’ he said, looking towards the machines.

  Gotrek’s scowl spoke volumes. But before he could reply, the air was split by a whistling shriek that had everyone groping to cover their ears. A moment later, a thunderous boom cracked the sky and then, farther down the parapet, a huge chunk of stone was blasted free, carrying dwarfs with it to their doom. The whole wall shuddered from the impact and Felix nearly lost his balance. ‘What in Sigmar’s name was that?’ he shouted.

  ‘Mortar,’ Gotrek roared. ‘There’s a Grimnir-be-damned mortar out there somewhere!’

  As if that had been the signal he had been waiting for, the Chaos leader lifted his huge axe in one hand and flung out his other towards the fifth wall. He roared out a single word that Felix needed no one to translate for him. With a communal roar that shook him down to his bones, the Chaos forces launched themselves to the attack.

  The dwarfs responded swiftly. Signal horns wailed and crossbows and handguns spoke, dropping the first ranks of the attackers as they sought to clear the distance to the wall. The withering hail of fire did little to diminish the Chaos marauders’ enthusiasm. Fallen banners and siege-ladders were scooped up from the hands of the dead and dying by those who trampled over them, and the armoured shapes of Chaos warriors chivvied the mortals along, urging them to greater speed with hoarse, hollow bellows.

  More dwarfs joined those already on the parapet. Ungrim marched up and down, shouting out encouragement and orders in a booming voice. The dour being that they had met in the palace had been replaced by an eager berserker, Felix realized with a chill. Garagrim took up position amongst his men and clashed his axes over his head in an eagerness that rivalled his father’s. He began to sing a war-song, his voice carrying with more strength than rhythm.

  For his part, Gotrek waited silently, his eye locked on the enemy commander. As Felix watched, the Chaos champion stalked down towards a waiting bodyguard of malformed, armoured shapes. A moment later, they joined the flow of bloodthirsty bodies sweeping towards the wall, their banners lost amongst the sea of such that rose and shook over the army. Gotrek grunted and shook himself. He gave Felix a grin. ‘Prophecies be damned, eh, manling? Give me a battle any day.’

  Felix didn’t reply. His blood had frozen in his veins. With a shaking voice, he said, ‘Gotrek, look. What are those things?’

  Titanic shapes loomed over the warriors scrambling ahead of them towards the walls. They shoved their way through the ruins, scattering rubble in their wake. They were immense, far larger than any living thing had a right to be, and when they roared, the sky itself seemed to shiver in fright. The lumpy, awkward figures strode forwards, heedlessly crushing men with every step. They were clad in piecemeal armour, and great plates were seemingly riveted to their gangly limbs. Faces that were yards across squirmed and grimaced in berserk pain within cruel helmets.

  As he watched in growing horror, a bolt thrower on the wall fired, sending an arrow the size of a man towards one of the giants. The bolt struck the overlapping armour plates and shattered, the force of the blow barely staggering the monstrosity. Indeed, it only seemed to spur the beast and it roared and stumbled forwards, raising its arms to reveal that its hands had been cruelly amputated and replaced with massive steel hook-blades that looked as if they could pull apart stone.

  Another beast had a set of flails attached to its forearm stumps, each length of chain tipped by a weighted iron sphere. It jerked its arms and the flails swung ponderously. The third had wide-bladed pick-axes, each as large as an ore-cart, chained to its gauntleted hands and it clashed them together in a discordant cacophony as it stomped forwards.

  In addition to their weapons, each of the monsters wore a heavy harness of chains and ropes that swung about their legs. As Felix watched, the boldest among the men who ran around the giants’ feet clambered up the ropes and chains with wild shouts. The walls trembled beneath Felix’s feet with every step the creatures took.

  ‘Siege-giants,’ Gotrek said, and spat. ‘Prepare yourself, manling. They intend to tear this wall apart and us with it.’

  The giants stomped forwards, their cries of mingled anger and agony washing over the defenders. Felix wanted nothing more than to run, to jump down from the wall and to go elsewhere. Anywhere was better than here. Gotrek, in contrast, seemed to be right where he wanted to be.

  ‘Grungni, they’re huge,’ a dwarf said in a horrified voice.

  Felix turned to see the dwarf stepping back from the wall, his eyes wide. He held his axe loosely, as if he’d forgotten he had it. He saw Felix looking at him and he said, ‘How do we beat them?’

  ‘You fight,’ Garagrim snarled, hooking the dwarf’s arm with the curve of his axe. Blood ran in thin rivulets where blade met flesh, and Felix felt a stab of pity.

  ‘Leave him,’ Gotrek rumbled.

  Garagrim glared at the other Slayer. ‘W
ho are you to give me orders, Gurnisson?’

  ‘No one,’ Gotrek said, stepping past Felix. Garagrim stepped back, pulling his axe away from the dwarf, and Gotrek took the latter by the bicep. His eye narrowed. ‘When we were crafted, fear was not part of our forging,’ he said, so softly that Felix almost didn’t catch it.

  The dwarf looked at him, mouth open as if he wanted to reply. Gotrek met his questioning look squarely and said, simply, ‘Turn around.’

  The dwarf stiffened and turned back to the wall, his jaw and throat working, his eyes wide. Garagrim met Gotrek’s gaze and nodded sharply. Gotrek grunted and turned back to the wall, his eye on the giants. Felix noted, however, that the taciturn Slayer stayed within grabbing distance of the dwarf. Whether perhaps to prevent another outburst, or simply to provide some form of comfort, Felix couldn’t say.

  Then, there was no more time to think of anything save survival. The fastest of the siege-giants had reached the walls, its flails lashing out in wide, wild blows. Vast swathes of ancient rock were scoured from the wall as the weapons connected and the parapet was cracked and shattered in that first explosive stroke. Dwarfs were sent hurtling from the wall, their bodies bent and twisted by the force of the blow. Shrapnel filled the air as the giant set about methodically smashing the wall and those who stood upon it to flinders.

  Felix ducked beneath a flying chunk of stone and ran to join Gotrek as he charged heedlessly towards the monster, his lips peeled back in a wild grin. A length of chain cut the air with a whistle and Felix felt it pass just over his head as he hunched low. This close, the giant stank of decay and he felt sickened as he saw that its armour had been riveted to its very flesh. Blood and pus wept from the joins and seams of its armour as it struck about it with its flails. No wonder the brute was in pain.

  The massive sphere topping one of the flails struck the parapet in front of Gotrek, splintering the stonework. The Slayer didn’t stop. Instead, he propelled himself into the air, through the cloud of dust and stone shards. His axe licked out, chopping into rust-riddled armour plating. And then he was in the air, hooked to the giant’s arm as it brought its flails back for another blow. Felix didn’t stop to watch. He leapt straight up as a second set of flails skidded across the parapet just beneath his feet, and landed awkwardly, pain shooting up his leg. The chains rasped as the giant pulled them back, but Felix was already moving. Crossbows thrummed as dwarf quarrellers fired at the beast.