Gotrek and Felix - Road of Skulls

by Josh Reynolds

  The other dwarfs followed suit, lashing out with their chains, to trip, strangle or batter their enemies. Given the situation, Felix couldn’t blame the enemy for simply giving the captives a wide berth, rather than striking them down out of hand. Even as he thought it, however, a few moved to do just that. A Chaos marauder lunged out of the pressing, heaving, confused crush of the horde as if to stop the dwarfs and Gotrek cracked the man’s skull like an egg.

  Felix gutted another as Gotrek turned his attentions to the prisoners. His axe dropped, shattering a dwarf’s chains. It was dawn, Felix realized. The sound of distant dwarf horns shook the pass. Garagrim must have recovered from Gotrek’s head-butt. ‘Gotrek, did you hear the horns?’ Felix said. ‘Garagrim is coming! We’ve done it!’

  ‘Garagrim,’ Ungrim said, confused. ‘My son–’

  ‘We’ve done nothing, manling,’ Gotrek said, as he freed the other dwarfs. ‘Not yet.’ As the last chain broke, he turned towards Ungrim, but did not move to cut the king’s chains. ‘The War-Mourner does you proud, King of Karak Kadrin,’ Gotrek said. ‘Were I you, I would make your way towards him. Let him know what he marches into.’ He gestured towards the path through the canyon that had brought him and Felix to the enemy. The stones echoed with the sounds of Garagrim’s throng at the march. The dwarfs of Karak Kadrin were bringing the fight to the enemy once more, even as the War-Mourner had promised.

  ‘And you, Gurnisson?’ Ungrim said, still holding out his chains to be cut.

  ‘Someone must see that you have time to reach him,’ Gotrek said and looked at Ungrim. ‘If this day be my doom, tell the queen I have fulfilled my oath yet again.’

  ‘Not your doom alone, Gurnisson,’ Ungrim growled, shaking his chains. ‘Free me! We shall wade through them and take the Gorewolf’s head, or meet our doom together!’

  ‘Like we would have, at Karak Ungor, against old Bashrak?’ Gotrek said.

  Ungrim’s eyes widened. ‘Gurnisson–’ he began.

  ‘I made an oath,’ Gotrek said, grinning.

  ‘Let me loose! I command you – free me!’ Ungrim roared.

  ‘I made an oath,’ Gotrek said again. ‘Our grudge is not settled, Ungrim Ironfist. It will never be settled, not while there is still strength in my arm. Go, King of Karak Kadrin! Go, Ungrim! Let me find my doom unhindered!’ He looked past the red-faced and cursing king to the other dwarfs. ‘Take him to his son. You swore an oath to defend Karak Kadrin and its king, and you will take him from this place, even if you have to knock him over the head to do it!’

  ‘Gurnisson, no,’ Ungrim snarled. ‘Let me have my doom! This is not right! This is not the way!’

  ‘I have never done things the proper way,’ Gotrek said. ‘Take him!’ He thrust the ends of Ungrim’s chains into the chests of the other dwarfs. ‘Take him and return and put the enemy to flight!’

  The dwarfs looked as if they might argue, but Gotrek’s glare put paid to any resistance. The set off quickly, dragging their frothing, struggling king behind them. Ungrim cursed virulently, hurling oaths at Gotrek as if they were stones. Gotrek remained unmoved, finally turning away. ‘Now, where did that beast get to? And its master. My axe is thirsty,’ he said.

  20

  The Worlds Edge Mountains, the Peak Pass

  Garmr planted his feet as the coruscating magics of the Changer washed over him. He held his axe up, blade outthrust against the multi-coloured flames. Khorne had protected him from worse, and did so now. Vasa was not so lucky.

  The lion-headed champion howled as Grettir’s mutating magics bowled him over and his brawny, bestial form became even more so. Armoured plates and snake scales and diseased feathers burst from his flesh as his shape became something other than humanoid. His screams degenerated into squalls of mindless pain as he was twisted from Chaos champion to gibbering Chaos spawn. Ekaterina, shielded from the flames by Vasa’s bulk, took the opportunity to ram her blade into Garmr’s back, even as Grettir’s flame faded.

  However, it wasn’t her sword which caused him the pain that suddenly shot through him. Instead, he felt as if something vital had been torn from his spine and he sagged, the weight of his axe pulling him down as a howl of pain erupted from his throat. Ekaterina stepped back in surprise, and Garmr turned and rose in one berserk motion, his axe striking out with brutal speed. Ekaterina stared in shock at the weapon as it sank into her chest. She fell back, and Garmr ripped it loose, turning towards Grettir, who faced him with open hands.

  ‘What has been done can be undone oh so easily, cousin; this road of yours, for instance, or the spells which bound Ulfrgandr to you. Does it hurt?’ Grettir sneered.

  Garmr, mind filled with red, uttered an inarticulate snarl and lunged. Grettir avoided the blow with malign ease. ‘Would it be more palatable, if I told you that this was not, in the end, about you, or us? It is about the gods, cousin. It always has been. They move in opposition, like heavenly bodies caught in the cosmic tide, and this was never going to succeed. We are pawns, cousin. Even in our hatred, we are but the playthings of the Dark Gods.’

  Garmr barely heard his cousin’s taunts. In truth, he could hear nothing, see nothing, but the carnage that Ulfrgandr wreaked. It overwhelmed him, blinding him with the raw frenzy of a murder-lust too long bound by mystic chains. Now the Slaughter-Hound was venting its centuries of frustrations on his horde as it made its way towards him, eager to resume their former contest. He could feel it drawing nearer, killing its way towards him.

  And in his own way, he welcomed it. He welcomed that battle, and hungered for it. As the calming effects of Grettir’s binding faded and the Slaughter-Hound was unleashed once more, so too was Garmr; he was free. Free of plans, free of waiting and striving. Free at last to kill and burn and maim with nothing more asked of him. All thoughts of the road were washed aside and beneath his helm, he smiled.

  ‘If we are playthings, cousin, then let us play,’ Garmr rasped. He charged, ploughing through the magics that Grettir unleashed against him. Multi-hued flames caressed him, and shrieking winds plucked at him, and ethereal talons gouged him. Grettir’s magics shattered war-altars and shrines, and flung marauders and nearby Chaos warriors into the air, broken and splay-limbed. But Garmr barely hesitated. Khorne had made him strong, and not even the Winds of Chaos could stagger him.

  Grettir backed away, cursing. Garmr followed him doggedly. But before he could crush his cousin once and for all, a wave of bloodlust reverberated through him and a crawling shadow swept over him. He paused and then turned.

  Ulfrgandr glared down at him, jaws sagging in what might have been an expression of joyousness. Its claws tore the ground as it rose to its full height. Images of torn bodies filled his head and the tang of blood blossomed on Garmr’s tongue. It was everything he could have wished.

  The Gorewolf roared and leapt to meet the Slaughter-Hound.

  ‘Gotrek, Ungrim didn’t look happy.’ Felix shouted to be heard over the cacophony erupting in the pass. Garagrim’s throng was drawing close and those Chaos forces that were closest to the approaching dwarfs were already streaming to the attack. Whatever ceremony or undertaking they had been preparing for in the centre of the pass was forgotten as the prospect of battle loomed. Screams and battle-cries filled the air. Those who weren’t on the march were dead or, amazingly, fighting amongst themselves. Gotrek had been right: the Chaos army had come unglued.

  Felix danced back to avoid two brawling Chaos champions, both clad in heavy armour, much battered. They struck out at one another with heavy blades as around them, their followers did the same. A dozen such minor skirmishes were taking place around them, as if the horde had been a pot too long on the fire that had at last boiled over.

  Gotrek hacked his way through them regardless of who they seemed intent on fighting. If they got in his way, they died. Felix did his best to guard the Slayer’s blind spot, but it was like following in the wake of a typhoon. Every time he stopped to fight off an attacker, Gotrek outpaced him, leaving screaming wrec
kage in his wake.

  ‘He’ll get loose soon enough and be back here, aye and Garagrim behind him. But not quickly enough to take what’s rightfully mine,’ Gotrek growled, shaking blood off his axe.

  ‘For a moment, I thought you were doing it for the queen,’ Felix said.

  Gotrek glared at him. ‘And what if I am?’

  ‘Maybe there’s some poetry in you yet, Gotrek,’ Felix said.

  ‘Keep your poetry, manling, all I want is that beast,’ Gotrek said and picked up his pace.

  ‘And if you die here, in the middle of this horde, what happens to me? Have you thought about that?’ Felix snapped, hurrying after him.

  ‘You’ll be fine. If you haven’t died yet, you aren’t likely to do so,’ Gotrek said without stopping.

  ‘Your confidence is heart-warming,’ Felix said.

  Something with too many limbs and mouths suddenly rose up before them. A hairy tendril struck Felix and sent him sprawling. The Chaos spawn screeched and clawed at Gotrek, who barely slowed as he grabbed a jutting tusk, hauled himself up onto one undulating shoulder and brought his axe crashing down on the centre of its bloated skull. It fell heavily and Gotrek jerked his axe free with a disdainful grunt. ‘Not the right monster,’ he grunted. His eye widened in glee as he stepped off the creature’s twitching carcass. ‘There it is!’

  Felix climbed to his feet and saw the monster. It had risen up over the Gorewolf and as he watched, it brought its fists down on the armoured shape of the warlord. The Gorewolf staggered and chopped at the creature. Felix looked at Gotrek. ‘I think it’s going to do our job for us,’ he said.

  ‘No beast is taking my doom from me,’ Gotrek growled. After knocking the warlord down again, the monster reared back on its hind legs and drove its great fists into its chest, issuing a thunderous bellow of challenge. Before Felix could stop him, Gotrek’s axe flashed out, catching it in one bulbous eye, and the orb burst in a rush of foul liquid. Half-blind, the monster turned as Gotrek charged towards it and it caught him up and slammed him down again and again, as if trying to reduce the Slayer to dust.

  Felix raced forwards and leapt for the monster’s back before he fully realized what he was doing. His skin burned as he grasped the hilts of the many blades sunk into the beast’s back. What had worked once, might work again, or so he hoped. He found a likely looking hilt, covered in sharp edges and rust and worse substances than blood, and, choking down a wave of bile, grabbed it in both hands. Feet planted, he hauled on the blade with every ounce of strength he possessed.

  He ripped it free with a sickening pop and tumbled to the ground in a heap. The monster stiffened and screamed, clawing at its back. Felix flung the blade aside with a cry. His gloves were torn through by the hilt’s sharp edges and his palms were blistered and weeping from gripping it. He staggered to his feet, his hands clutched to his chest.

  Even as it had before, the removal of one of the blades had caused the monster intense pain and distracted it as it writhed and screamed. Gotrek, dazed, shook his head and shoved himself up out of the miniature crater his repeated impact had created. As the monster staggered above him, he looked up and his good eye gleamed. He lunged upwards and caught the handle of his axe where it jutted from the beast’s skull, and ripped it loose in one gory gesture. The monster reeled back and Gotrek bounced to his feet and drove the blade upwards, into its belly.

  It roared and clutched the Slayer with its hooked talons, tearing open his back as it pressed his face to the scales on its chest. Felix drew Karaghul, despite the pain in his hands, but even as he made to aid Gotrek, the monster spasmed and then toppled over, carrying Gotrek with it, remaining eye closed, jaws sagging as it slumped atop the Slayer, burying him beneath its bulk.

  ‘Gotrek,’ Felix shouted, rushing towards the monster. If he could hack an opening, free him–

  An armoured fist shot out, catching him on the jaw. Felix tumbled to the ground, head ringing. The Gorewolf loomed over him, bloody axe in hand. The sheer malevolence that radiated from the warrior struck Felix like a blow. This was no man, no mere general, but was, in his own way, as much an engine of destruction as the monster Gotrek had just dispatched. This thing – not a man – could wade through an ocean of blood and not drown; it could level cities and not tire. ‘The Doom-Seeker has gotten his wish,’ the warlord growled. ‘Will you join him?’ he said, lifting his axe.

  Felix could only stare upwards as his doom raced towards him. Then, at the last moment, the axe missed his head, embedding itself in the ground mere inches from his cheek. The Gorewolf staggered, clawing at his back where the spiked blade Felix had extracted from the monster’s back had suddenly sprouted.

  The robed figure, crystalline helm cracked and flickering, stepped back with an air of satisfaction. The Gorewolf sank to one knee and painful shudders wracked his frame. Felix could tell that whatever fell magics were contained in that blade were causing the warlord pain.

  ‘What about you, cousin?’ the latter said in a cracked and hissing voice. ‘Will you join them in death? Do you recall that blade, cousin? It was the one I gave you, to plant in the Slaughter-Hound’s back. The blade that bound its life to yours, and ensured that while it lived so too would you. Now I give you your life back. Have you no words of thanks?’

  The Gorewolf ripped the blade from his back and wheeled about awkwardly. ‘My thanks, cousin,’ the Gorewolf snarled as he leapt forwards clumsily and drove the blade into his cousin’s gut hard enough to lift the sorcerer from his feet. ‘You have done all I asked,’ the Gorewolf went on as the robed body fell backwards. ‘I release you from your shackles.’ The crystalline mask shattered as it fell, and Felix scooted back as several of the fragments slid towards him.

  The Gorewolf turned back towards Felix and strode in his direction. Felix scrambled to his feet as the warlord jerked his axe free and raised it again. He could tell that the warlord was in pain. Though, in the end, he didn’t think it would alter the outcome of any fight. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ the warlord said. Felix swallowed and lifted Karaghul, wondering how he’d be remembered.

  ‘Not quite.’ At the words, both Felix and the Gorewolf turned.

  Gotrek shoved his way out from under the monster’s body, and snarled, ‘Is that it?’ The Slayer staggered away from the still-thrashing body of the monster, his broad frame streaked with cuts and bruises. Nonetheless his eye blazed with a single-minded intensity. ‘Gorewolf – your beast is dead and I am not. If you can’t do better, I’ll be very disappointed.’ He glanced at Felix. ‘Stand back, manling. He’s mine and mine alone. Not you, nor Ungrim, nor Garagrim, nor Grimnir himself will take this battle from me!’

  ‘You,’ the Gorewolf croaked, hefting his axe. The weapon was as formidable looking as Gotrek’s own, though it dripped with brutal malice rather than grim ferocity.

  ‘I heard you were waiting for me, Gorewolf,’ Gotrek said nastily. ‘You are my doom, I’m told.’

  ‘And you are mine,’ the Gorewolf rasped. ‘The Blood God promised you to me, and here, at the last, despite everything, he has sent you to me.’ He extended his axe and raised it. ‘The others were weak… false. They do not understand. They sought to bar my path, to trick me. No matter who stands in my way, I will have my victory. Let the legions of Khorne himself bar my path and I will cut them down! Do you hear me?’

  ‘I hear you,’ Gotrek rumbled. ‘If you’re finished, my axe waits.’

  The Gorewolf laughed. ‘Then let it drink deep, Doom-Seeker!’ Then he roared and charged. Gotrek came in with a roar of his own. They traded blows that sparked and snapped like sparks in a forge. The two weapons chewed into one another and sawed wide, the edges crashing against one another with tooth-shivering intensity. Again, time seemed to slow even as it had when they’d arrived, and Felix thought that the world was holding its breath. It was as if they were in an arena and the Dark Gods crouched high on the ridges above, looking down and waiting for the outcome of this conflict between two competing fates.


  The two axes had become twin blurs. One weapon, forged by dwarf hands in a time of woe and filled with the stubborn ferocity of a dwindling elder race, met another, forged by daemons and hungry for the doom of all things. Every time the blades connected, the world seemed to shudder. Gotrek moved as if he weighed no more than a feather, as if he were fresh to the fight. He fought in silence, determined to meet his end, but not alone.

  The Gorewolf fought silently as well, and with equal enthusiasm. Felix had never witnessed such terrible lust for combat before this moment. The axe spun in Gotrek’s hands, spinning lightly between his fingers as he deflected a blow and countered with dizzying speed even as Garmr attacked again with a forceful chop, shaving bristles from Gotrek’s beard.

  Blood welled as the warlord’s axe took the Slayer on the chest and then on the thigh. Gotrek staggered but didn’t slow, ramming a shoulder into the Gorewolf’s midriff and knocking him back. He brought his axe up and the Gorewolf’s drove down and the two weapons met with a hateful screech. The two warriors strained against one another. Gotrek’s muscles bulged and swelled with reserves of strength that Felix had not even suspected to exist. Nonetheless, the Gorewolf pressed his weapon inexorably down, less a man than a murderous device, intent on its function.

  The rain pounded down and for a moment, Felix wanted to drop to his face, to grovel and hide from the malign weight of it all. Instead, he swept the red rain from his face and prayed that now was not the time that the Slayer’s luck – ill or otherwise – chose to desert him. More than just Gotrek’s honour rested on the outcome of this battle. Gotrek fought quietly, trading bone-rattling blows with the Gorewolf as the rain swept down and turned his flesh as red as his crest. All around them, thousands of skulls chattered and clattered in an infernal wind.