Gotrek and Felix - Road of Skulls

by Josh Reynolds

  ‘Until we know whether my father has met his long-sought doom or not, yes,’ Garagrim said. He met Gotrek’s eye. ‘You have something to say about it?’

  Gotrek grunted and looked away. Felix felt that he might have been safer staying in the hills. Garagrim was no friend of theirs, that much had been made clear to him. How would he react to Gotrek’s prodding now that he was de-facto ruler of Karak Kadrin?

  On his pallet, Thungrimsson coughed. Garagrim looked at him, and then at Gotrek. ‘I have a hundred clansmen, plus the remnants of my father’s – of the Grand Throng. There are five times that number of Northmen in the pass, and more every hour, according to my scouts. They’re growing, gathering strength like pus in a wound.’

  Gotrek looked out at the encampment. ‘You can’t hold them,’ he said bluntly.

  Felix tensed, expecting Garagrim to explode. Instead, the War-Mourner merely grunted. ‘No. If we had a day, or a week, yes, but there’s no telling when they’ll come howling down towards us.’

  ‘You could retreat,’ Felix said half-heartedly. Both Slayers looked at him dismissively and then away. Felix shrugged and shook his head. ‘Never mind,’ he muttered.

  ‘The queen will have sent messengers to Zhufbar and Karaz-a-Karak,’ Garagrim said, stroking his beard. ‘Though I doubt reinforcement will be forthcoming.’

  Gotrek laughed nastily. ‘They will shore up their defences as Karak Kadrin occupies the enemy.’

  ‘It has always been thus,’ Garagrim said, somewhat proudly. ‘We are the gate to the world, Gurnisson. That is no small responsibility.’ He looked at Gotrek steadily. ‘By rights, I should send you back to the hold under guard.’

  ‘You can’t afford to spare the number of warriors it will take to chain me, beardling,’ Gotrek said. Garagrim flushed, but held his temper with what Felix considered remarkable will.

  ‘I don’t have enough warriors to do anything,’ he said bitterly. ‘If we defend this place, we will be overwhelmed within hours. If we retreat to a better position, they will catch us.’

  ‘So attack,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘Our numbers are too few,’ another thane protested, speaking up for the first time from among a small group of his fellows. Felix looked at them. They were young, as dwarfs judged things, he thought; save for a few, who wore bloody bandages and had a haunted look in their eyes. The survivors of Ungrim’s circle of commanders, he assumed.

  ‘What do you expect me to say?’ Gotrek glared fiercely at the young thane. ‘I intend to march into the pass and find this beast that supposedly did for Ungrim. Do what you wish, decide for yourselves, I care nothing for your worries or your army,’ he growled.

  ‘You never have,’ Garagrim said.

  Gotrek spun. His eye was wide and blazing. His mouth opened, but he closed it with a snap. Felix felt a rush of anger on the Slayer’s behalf. ‘If he hadn’t cared, your father might not have lived this long!’ Felix said before he could stop himself. Every dwarf under the tent looked at him and he shrank back instinctively.

  ‘What was that, human?’ Garagrim said. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was nothing. The manling speaks out of turn,’ Gotrek said, stepping between them. ‘You are right that I care nothing for any dwarf, War-Mourner. I am an outlaw for good reason. Leave it at that.’

  ‘No, tell me, Gurnisson,’ Garagrim said.

  Gotrek grunted. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Tell him,’ Felix said, ignoring Gotrek’s gesture to be silent. ‘Gotrek, better to part with peace between you than anger,’ he continued.

  Gotrek shrugged. ‘What does it matter?’ he said again. ‘We part just the same.’

  Garagrim’s hands were clenched into fists. ‘Tell me what he meant, Gurnisson. As War-Mourner, as prince, I demand it!’

  Gotrek shivered slightly. Then he sighed and looked at Garagrim. ‘Your mother asked me to swear an oath, boy. She asked me to swear to her that I would not allow your father – or any of his line – to meet their doom, if I could prevent it. And for reasons which are my own, I did so. I saved your father from his doom, and he has borne me a grudge ever since. And because you are prince, it is your grudge as well, but my oath stands all the same.’

  Garagrim stared at him. Every dwarf stared at him. Felix stared at him. Gotrek met every look with a stony glare and turned away. Looking out at the rain, he said, ‘An attack is the only hope Karak Kadrin has. But to do so successfully will require time you do not have.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Garagrim said.

  ‘These worshippers of the Blood God thrive on challenge,’ Gotrek said lifting his axe. ‘They’re like wolves… Always looking for weakness, the strong preying on the weak and the weak looking to pull down the strong. When they defeat an opponent, they immediately look for another.’

  ‘You think they’ll fall on one another, as they did at Karak Kadrin,’ Garagrim said.

  ‘Aye,’ Gotrek said. ‘They’ll rip each other apart, with a bit of help. If they’ve no leader to hold the reins, they’ll fall to fighting, sure enough…’

  Felix’s heart sank. ‘Oh no,’ he muttered. Gotrek glanced at him, his eye twinkling.

  ‘Aye, manling,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll kill their blasted warlord and they’ll turn on each other to pick a new one. And while they’re fighting, the beardling can unleash the vengeance of Karak Kadrin on them.’

  ‘It might work,’ Garagrim said, after a moment of stunned silence at the sheer audacity of the Slayer’s plan had passed. His face hardened. ‘But why should that honour fall to you?’

  Gotrek looked at him, eyebrow arched. ‘Who better, beardling? Axeson’s prophecy, if it was true, has come and gone. I am free to seek my doom.’

  ‘I am War-Mourner, Gurnisson,’ Garagrim said, as if relishing every word. ‘That means it is my duty to determine who meets what doom when. And I say thee nay.’ He clashed his axes together. ‘My father has fallen, and it comes to me to do what he could not. I will meet my doom here and free my clan from our shame! And I will have no doom-thief steal absolution from me!’ he bellowed, gesturing at Gotrek.

  So intent on was he on elaborating on this theme, that Garagrim did not notice Gotrek stalking towards him until the older Slayer was right up on him. Felix flinched as Gotrek’s forehead snapped forwards and connected with Garagrim’s with a sound like stones crashing together. Every dwarf in the tent sucked in a breath as Garagrim staggered back, his eyes going cross. ‘I–’ he began. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled backwards to lie still.

  Gotrek wiped a bead of blood from his forehead and looked around. ‘Is there anyone else who wants to argue with me?’ he growled. ‘No? Good. When he wakes, tell him the grudge stands. Attack at dawn,’ he continued, stabbing a finger at the closest thane, who pointed at himself nervously. ‘The deed will be done by then, one way or another.’

  ‘Gotrek, was that entirely wise?’ Felix said as he followed Gotrek out of the tent. He glanced back and saw the thanes gathering around Garagrim’s unconscious body and muttering among themselves. ‘They might arrest us for assaulting the king!’

  ‘That beardling is no king,’ Gotrek spat, not slowing his pace. ‘Not yet. But Kemma is queen, and she’d flay me down to my gruntaz if I ignored my oath now.’ His voice softened. ‘I couldn’t save Ungrim. I’ll save his son though, even if they must record my name in the Book of Grudges for it.’

  Felix said nothing. It was a courageous thing Gotrek was doing. Any dwarf could die. But not many could live with the shame of having prevented another from fulfilling a sacred vow. Maybe the other Slayers had been right, he reflected with grim humour. Gotrek truly was a doom-thief, albeit not in the way they had meant.

  ‘You do not have to follow me, manling,’ Gotrek said as they headed for the line of pavise shields. ‘Garagrim will not harm you, if you choose to stay.’

  Felix shivered a little. Red rain ran down the collar of his shirt, sending chills down his back. ‘Maybe not, bu
t if I stay, how will I accurately record your death?’

  ‘Are you certain this is my doom?’ Gotrek said, not looking at him.

  ‘You’re walking into the heart of the largest Chaos horde to spill out of the north since the time of Magnus the Pious,’ Felix said. ‘I’m honestly considering just having that be the last line. The outcome is, as the playwright Detlef Sierck was fond of saying, foregone.’

  ‘I met him once,’ Gotrek said idly, ‘him and his witchy woman.’ He tapped his bulbous, oft-broken nose. ‘She was a blood-sucker, though they seemed happy enough.’

  Felix looked at Gotrek. ‘He was one of the greatest playwrights the Empire ever produced.’

  ‘Couldn’t hold his liquor,’ Gotrek grunted. ‘He always acted like he was on a blasted stage.’ He shook his head, scattering rain from his crest. ‘He loved that woman though, even though she was as cold as fish dragged from a mountain river.’ A muscle in his jaw jumped. ‘Aye, love is a fine thing…’

  ‘You’d know all about that, of course,’ Felix said mildly.

  ‘What was that, manling?’

  ‘As long as I’ve known you, Gotrek, I’ve never seen you swear an oath without good reason, regardless of who was asking.’ Felix glanced down at the Slayer. ‘So why did you swear such an oath to the queen?’

  ‘She wasn’t queen then,’ Gotrek muttered.

  ‘What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you over the rain,’ Felix said, cupping a hand around his ear. Gotrek glared at him.

  ‘None of that goes in my saga,’ he snapped, shaking a finger at Felix. ‘I’ll not have a queen embarrassed by your loose words.’

  Felix allowed himself a small smile. ‘There’s always a woman,’ he said. He looked at Gotrek. ‘That’s another thing that Detlef Sierck used to say.’

  Gotrek grunted. Then he cocked his eye at Felix. ‘Last chance, manling.’

  Felix looked around. They had arrived at the shields. Dwarfs watched them silently. Somewhere behind them, someone barked an order and two of the shields were moved aside. Felix looked back at the warm glow of the dwarf lanterns, and then at the hungry darkness of the Peak Pass. He swallowed and let his palm drop to Karaghul’s hilt.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  Gotrek gave a flat bark of laughter and slapped him on the back. ‘That’s the spirit, manling. Your stories will live longer than anything from old Detlef’s pen, that much I can promise you.’

  ‘I’d settle for doing that myself,’ Felix said gloomily, as the waiting darkness swallowed them up.

  The centre of the Peak Pass had been filled with war-shrines and altars, arrayed in eight concentric circles, radiating outwards from a central point. The spot had been picked years before the horde had even mustered, chosen by Grettir’s signs and portents. It had been the first thing Garmr had forced his cousin to do. For a hundred years or more, this spot, this wet patch of bloody stone, had been his goal. Every step Garmr had taken on Khorne’s road had led him here, to this seemingly innocuous section of mountain pass.

  Or not so innocuous, as Grettir assured him; in the facets of his cousin’s mask, Garmr had seen the history of this place. Armies had lived and died on this spot and a hundred thousand souls were chained to these stones by death and by slaughter. It was on this spot that the dwarfs had first thrown back the forces of Chaos, so many millennia ago. Here, the one who had gone north, who had carved his skull road into the heart of the Wastes, had battled the champions of those first raw, red years – the first men to be touched by Chaos, the first to pledge skulls to Khorne and flesh to Slaanesh. Those ancient, mighty warriors had died in heaps and droves, slaughtered to a man by the dwarf. Here was where it had truly begun; it was through here that Khorne’s Road of Skulls would run. And it was here that the dawi of Karak Kadrin inevitably chose to make their stand when the northern hordes swept south, though they no longer knew why.

  It was nothing to him. Just stone, a little higher than some and lower than others. But Khorne’s Eye was here, and that made it the most important place in the world at this moment. The Dark Gods watched and waited and Garmr was determined that they would have the entertainment that they craved.

  He growled in satisfaction as the last shrine was shoved into place and the beasts and slaves were freed from their chains and traces and slaughtered, their bodies added to the heaps of flyblown meat that lay cooling in the red rain, their spilled blood gleaming in the flickering torchlight. The smell of blood was heavy on the air as Garmr climbed the eight steps of the war-shrine and looked out at what remained of his horde. It had been purged of weakness, sharpened to a killing point by all that he had done. And here, that point would be sanctified in the name of Khorne.

  Visions of what was to come danced in his head. For so long, he had striven to reach this moment. Everything after was a reward. Every moment of murder, every second of the slaughter-to-come was Khorne’s gift to his most faithful of servants. The world would drown in fire and blood over and over again as Khorne’s legions marched on the Road of Skulls and into the lands of men, dwarfs and elves even as they had millennia past. ‘Bring the prisoners forwards!’ he thundered.

  Ulfrgandr snarled softly, from behind the shrine. The beast lay crouched before it, its eyes sweeping hungrily over the gathered horde. For a moment, Garmr wondered if perhaps he would free it, at the end, and let it roam these mountains ever more, a living testament to his might and Khorne’s will, a harbinger of what would soon stalk down the Road of Skulls. He looked as the prisoners were dragged forward.

  There were a dozen prisoners, more than he’d thought, and somewhere among them, the bloody and battered king of Karak Kadrin himself, Ungrim Ironfist. Grettir had assured him of such, though all dwarfs looked the same to Garmr. Ekaterina stalked down the line, driving a boot into each dwarf’s back in turn, knocking them to their knees. Garmr gazed at them in satisfaction and then roared, ‘Bring me Grettir!’

  Canto dragged the stumbling sorcerer through the ranks. Howls and jeers accompanied him, and stones struck him as he followed the black-armoured warrior. Canto shoved him down onto the steps of the war-shrine and stepped back. Grettir cast a glare at him and then turned it on Garmr, who crouched above him and held up a head by its matted crimson hair.

  ‘I found him, cousin,’ he said. He flipped the head of the one-eyed Slayer into Grettir’s lap.

  Grettir gestured to Garmr’s hand. ‘It looks like he found you as well.’

  Garmr shrugged and rumbled, ‘It is of no matter.’

  ‘There are rites that I must perform,’ Grettir said. ‘Placing this last skull is a delicate business. It is not just a matter of setting up your altars and temples.’

  ‘Then do so, cousin,’ Garmr growled. He lifted his axe. Overhead, the clouds were the colour of clotted blood and a fat crimson moon rolled idiotically out from behind them, beaming its empty grin down at them. ‘This ground has been sanctified twice over, and Khorne’s Eye is upon us! Our time is at hand! Khorne’s will be made manifest! Let these mountains echo with the screams of the dead and the soon-to-die! Here is the doom of all mankind! Here is where the world drowns in blood!’ His army roared assent, the noise of it causing the night-scavengers to flee in terror. He strode up the steps of the altar and roared, ‘Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!’ and his army shouted with him.

  ‘Why do we not attack the dwarf hold?’ Ekaterina barked suddenly. She squatted behind Ungrim, and had jerked his head back. ‘Let us tear their walls down, and let their petty king watch!’ Warriors all around her broke into bays of approval, and champions as well, including Vasa and those who had replaced Bolgatz and the others who had died. ‘Khorne wills it,’ she shouted. ‘He wills that we march, Garmr. To sit and stay is not the way of Khorne,’ she snarled, and her supporters snarled with her. The canyon seemed to echo for a moment with the thunder of leather pinions beating.

  Before he could reply to Ekaterina’s impertinence, the squat shape of the Chaos dwarf Kho
rreg shoved his way through the press, his remaining assistants behind him. The Chaos dwarf’s eyes lingered almost longingly over the captives, but then they turned to Garmr.

  ‘Our bargain is fulfilled, Gorewolf,’ Khorreg rasped, crossing his arms. ‘We will take our engine and we will go.’

  Garmr cocked his head ‘I did not give you leave to go,’ he said, staring down at the squat figure.

  ‘And I did not ask it,’ Khorreg said. ‘We have fulfilled the terms of our bargain, Gorewolf. Our engines have brought you victory. We return now to Zharr Naggrund.’

  ‘I said that I did not give you leave to go,’ Garmr snarled, incensed by this second challenge, and from an unexpected quarter. ‘I will require your engines–’

  ‘We have done all that we agreed and we have lost valuable resources in the doing,’ Khorreg grated, meeting Garmr’s fury with haughty disdain. ‘The Daemonsmiths of Zharr Naggrund always honour their bargains, chieftain. No more, no less.’ He swiped the air in an imperious gesture. ‘We take our remaining cannon and go.’

  Men began to mutter and murmur. The hellcannon, even by itself, had done the work of a hundred men, battering down walls and enemy phalanxes alike. But even worse was the challenge. If Garmr could not keep the dawi zharr from leaving, perhaps there was a reason? Garmr hesitated again, and cursed himself for doing so even as he did it. ‘You will not leave,’ he said, striding down the stairs of the altar, axe in hand.

  Khorreg cocked his head, his piggy eyes glowing balefully. ‘Will I not, Northman?’

  Garmr paused, considering. He was confident that he could kill the Chaos dwarf, but what purpose would that serve? No, better to save his chastisement for later, when he could bring the full might of a strong horde upon the black walls of Zharr Naggrund. He looked around, realizing that every eye was upon him now. Vasa the Lion and Ekaterina watched him, their faces eager and expectant, though he couldn’t see Canto anywhere. His men watched him, Chaos champions and warriors and marauders alike, and every expression was the same, like that of animals sniffing for weakness.