by Various
Clearly, all was not well with this skaven army. It was hard to tell since they spoke in their native tongue, but to Felix it seemed as though the chieftains were speaking out against their leader, questioning his motives.
One of them spoke louder than the rest in a series of squeaks and hisses.
To Felix’s surprise, he could understand every word the irritated grey seer spoke in reply.
‘Castle Reiksguard can wait. Capturing the Slayer’s body is not waste of time-effort. The Council of Thirteen will reward us when they receive this gift. All of us will be rewarded, yes-yes?’
The reaction to this sounded more positive. In the enclosed cavern the noise was deafening.
‘Why is he speaking Reikspiel?’ Felix asked Ulrika in a whisper.
‘He’s showing off,’ she replied.
Another chieftain spoke, this time in broken Reikspiel. ‘Who is Slayer, Grey Seer Gnawklaw? Why Council care?’
Gnawklaw tapped his staff upon the stone floor impatiently, quieting the din that accompanied the chieftain’s question. It was clear most of the assembled skaven didn’t understand the exchange but were following their chieftain’s lead.
‘He is much-much valuable. This prize is far greater than anything Castle Reiksguard has to offer. Besides, we can go there later. We will take both prizes to the Council and all of us will share in this success. We will achieve what my predecessor could not.’
Something about the way Gnawklaw said ‘predecessor’ put Felix in mind of an old enemy. He shuddered.
‘You risk first mission as grey seer, and all our lives on hunch?’ the chieftain said.
‘What guarantee do we have that you will not take all the glory for yourself?’ another asked.
Gnawklaw rapped his staff on the ground again to quell the roar of agreement.
‘I only need to present the Slayer’s head to the Council. Perhaps I should divide up the rest and share amongst you? Then you too will have proof of your role in the death of the greatest skaven nemesis!’
These words received the biggest roar of approval so far, enough to make Felix’s ears ring. Once the noise had calmed down, he whispered to Ulrika. ‘They’re going to chop Gotrek up! We have to get him out!’
‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘Look.’
Once again, Ulrika’s sharp eyes had spotted what Felix had missed. He peered again at the Slayer’s corpse-like form. Was that a twitching hand he spied?
It couldn’t be. Gotrek wasn’t supposed to wake up for a week at least!
‘We will not become great by scuttling around, stealing from man-castles in the dead of night. We will become great by delivering the body of our greatest enemy to the Council of Thirteen. We will achieve glory! Now, who wants a cut-slice of Slayer?’
Gnawklaw drew a wickedly sharp blade from his robes, and in one swift moment, took a chunk out of Gotrek’s crest. Felix winced but saw no blood. Still, the Slayer was going to be angry. The grey seer tossed the handful of hair into the crowd and the skaven chattered and squeaked appreciatively.
‘What’s that? You want a piece of his body? How about a hand?’
A roar of approval.
‘Ulrika!’ Felix hissed, hand on his sword, making ready to jump from the platform.
The skaven blade swished towards Gotrek’s arm, but to the grey seer’s shock it didn’t make contact. A hand clamped around his wrist.
Gnawklaw screamed. He tore his arm free and spoke a very rapid incantation. A puff of smoke accompanied his hasty departure.
Panic struck in a ripple effect, from those skaven nearest the front all the way to the back, as the ratkin all tried to leave at the same time. Many were trampled to death by the confused rat-ogres. Some made it out. Others were cut down by the hacking and slashing of a very angry Slayer armed with the razor-sharp blade of a grey seer.
‘Why are you running away?’ Gotrek cried, his voice slicing through the terrified mob as keenly as the knife parted their flesh. ‘I’m dead, remember?’
Bits of skaven flew in all directions as the Slayer took out his frustrations upon them.
‘You want a piece of me?’ he roared, slicing a startled clanrat in two.
Felix and Ulrika jumped down from the ledge, their weapons ready. A mass of fleeing skaven tried to change direction when they saw the danger ahead, but not fast enough. Ulrika was a whirr of motion, dead clanrats dropping at her feet like the faithful worshipping Sigmar himself. Felix did his fair share of damage, his sword gutting, stabbing and slashing at the hateful creatures as they tried to run.
It wasn’t long before Ulrika and Felix reached Gotrek.
‘I am not happy,’ the Slayer grumbled.
‘Good!’ Felix said. ‘Take it out on the vermin!’
Gotrek was only too keen to comply. The remaining skaven had rallied a defence of sorts, forming a barrier between the three comrades and the retreating chieftains.
‘Did you bring my axe?’ the Slayer asked.
‘No,’ said Felix. ‘I didn’t think you’d be needing it.’
Gotrek grunted. ‘Looks like we will need to fight our way out of here, manling.’
‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’
The two companions yelled an impromptu battle-cry and charged, smashing into the skaven front line like a two-man avalanche.
Ulrika rolled her eyes. ‘Men,’ she said. Then she too rushed to join the fight.
Felix emerged into the moonlight, grateful for the cool night breeze on his face and the feeling of freedom. They were some way from Kutenholz, on the banks of the river Delb. His eyes had grown so accustomed to the dark of the tunnels that here, outside, it might as well have been noon on a summer day.
Ulrika and Gotrek emerged from the tunnel. Both were covered in skaven blood. Felix assumed he was too. He collapsed by the river, lying on his back and drinking in the sky and the stars. It was a beautiful night by any measure, but it felt even sweeter to be alive and out in the open air again. He rolled to the water’s edge and drank for a good while.
Gotrek flopped down beside him. ‘Where’s my axe, manling?’ he demanded.
Typical Gotrek. Not, ‘Why was I dead?’ but, ‘Where’s my axe?’
‘It’s safe, don’t worry.’
‘And the assassin?’
‘Just a mercenary.’
Gotrek grunted. ‘I have not been poisoned for a long time. I heard the assassin but assumed he had come to slit my throat. Didn’t see the dart until it was too late. I assume we know who hired him.’
‘Not for sure,’ said Ulrika.
‘What is she doing here?’ Gotrek asked, as if noticing her for the first time.
‘I’m just helping to save your life,’ Ulrika snapped.
‘Unlikely,’ said Gotrek.
Ulrika coughed. ‘Excuse me! I fought Pragarti and the skaven today, risking my neck for you.’
‘You have been busy,’ Gotrek said.
Felix turned on his side and propped his head up with one hand. He tossed small stones into the river with the other.
‘It’s curious, though, Gotrek. Every step of the way, Ulrika’s been several moves ahead of me.’
‘Not that curious, manling. The vampire is as slippery as a buttered eel.’
‘How dare–’
‘And isn’t it curious,’ Felix continued, ‘that Ulrika knew you’d been poisoned with ragethar, even though I never mentioned it to her?’
‘I talked to the apothecary,’ she explained.
‘Perhaps, or maybe you already knew which poison was used.’
Before Ulrika could say anything, Gotrek moved with surprising speed. He leapt at the vampire, forced her to the ground and held the skaven blade against her throat.
‘Let me go!’ Ulrika hissed, struggling to break free of the Slayer’s iron grip.
‘Bite me,’ said Gotrek.
Felix stood up and walked over. He crouched down close to Ulrika’s face.
‘And then I thought abo
ut how unlikely it was that the apothecary just down the street from the inn would not only recognise the symptoms of an obscure skaven poison but also have the antidote handy. By your own admission, you wanted Pragarti to believe Gotrek was dead so her spell would backfire. That’s why you had him poisoned. Am I right?’
‘Damn heroes,’ she spluttered. ‘You were so painfully obvious, stomping around looking for Pragarti! I couldn’t go near you without her spies seeing me, and I didn’t want her to know I was on her trail. I wanted her spell to backfire because she thought the Slayer was dead. If I had told you what I was planning, she would have found out.’
‘I hope for your sake the plan worked and Pragarti is dead,’ Gotrek said, his face mere inches from Ulrika’s. He pressed the blade against her neck, drawing blood.
‘Damn skaven interrupted us. I don’t know if she escaped or not.’
‘A pity. So, vampire, why should I not kill you right now?’
‘Felix will not let you!’ Ulrika insisted.
Felix didn’t relish this. He was mad at Ulrika for what she had put him and the Slayer through. But her heart – cold and unbeating as it was – was in the right place. The threat to the Empire had been averted.
‘Let her go,’ Felix said.
‘You do not tell me what to do, manling!’ Gotrek thundered.
‘I’m not telling you, Slayer. I’m asking you.’
For a moment Gotrek seemed about to slice Ulrika’s head clean off. Then he growled in frustration and released her. She was on her feet in a second, but smart enough not to draw her weapon. She touched the fine cut on her neck and then licked the blood from her fingers.
‘You had best stay away from us in future,’ Felix warned. ‘Next time I may not ask Gotrek to spare you.’
Ulrika scowled at them, and then she was gone.
Gotrek and Felix sat by the river as the first rays of dawn crept across the forest floor.
‘Next time, I will ensure your funeral is more fitting,’ Felix promised the Slayer.
‘Aye, manling. Though I wonder if I am capable of dying.’
‘Let’s never stop trying to find out, eh, Gotrek?’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
NATHAN LONG
Nathan Long hails from Los Angeles, California, where he began his career as a screenwriter in Hollywood. He has written a wide selection of Warhammer fantasy novels, including the Blackhearts trilogy and more recently the adventures of Ulrika the Vampire. To many fans, he is best known for his work on the hugely successful Gotrek & Felix series, including five full-length novels and the first Black Library fantasy audio drama, Slayer of the Storm God.
JOSH REYNOLDS
Formerly a roadie for the Hong Kong Cavaliers, Josh Reynolds now writes full time and his work has appeared previously in anthologies such as Specters and Coal Dust, Historical Lovecraft and How The West Was Weird as well as in magazines such as Innsmouth Free Press and Hammer and Bolter. Feel free to stop by his blog (http://joshuamreynolds.blogspot.com/).
JOHN BRUNNER
John Brunner (24 September 1934 – 26 August 1995) was a prolific British author of science fiction novels and stories. His career spanned over four decades and won him many accolades. His 1968 novel Stand on Zanzibar, about an overpopulated world, won the 1968 Hugo Award for best science fiction novel. It also won the BSFA award the same year. The Jagged Orbit won the BSFA award in 1970.
JORDAN ELLINGER
Jordan Ellinger is a recent first place winner in the Writers of the Future contest and a Clarion West graduate, and his work can be seen in numerous anthologies across the science fiction and fantasy genres. When he is not writing, he is a freelance editor attached to such projects as Every Day Fiction and Raygun Revival. You can keep up with his blog at www.jordanellinger.com
BEN MCCALLUM
Ben McCallum is a writer hailing from the grey north east of Scotland. In his busy schedule of fast cars and gorgeous women, he somehow finds the time to paint and assemble the legions of the damned, procrastinate over very important tasks, and argue with his friends over which superhero is really, truly the best. He can converse with wild animals in their own tongue, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.
DAVID GUYMER
It has been many long years since David Guymer first succumbed to the Curse of the Horned Rat. In that time, he has appeased his dark master by devoting his energies to the study of the plagues of mankind. By the hours of daylight he prods hopefully at bacterial strains until they bend to his diseased will, but with the coming of darkness he retreats to his burrow to write stories of magic and chaos as he plots the downfall of the surface-dwellers.
ANDY SMILLIE
Forged from beef and brawn, Andy Smillie emerged from the blacksmith’s fire like a slab of Scottish iron. Hailing from the northern reaches of Glasgow, he crossed the border into England intent on conquest, but instead found gainful employment at Games Workshop. Leaving a trail of carnage in his wake, he eventually settled in the Black Library where he works in marketing by day and as a literary superhero by night. His writing credits include a swathe of articles for various sci-fi, fantasy and hobby magazines. His debut work of fiction, ‘Mountain Eater’, was released in 2011 in the digital publication Hammer and Bolter. You can read his blog at http://asmileylife.wordpress.com/
C.L. Werner
C. L. Werner was a diseased servant of the Horned Rat long before his first story in Inferno! magazine. His Black Library credits include the Chaos Wastes books, Mathias Thulmann: Witch Hunter, Runefang, the Brunner the Bounty Hunter trilogy and the Thanquol and Boneripper series. Currently living in the American south-west, he continues to write stories of mayhem and madness set in the Warhammer World. Visit the author’s website at www.vermintime.com
RICHARD SALTER
Richard Salter is a British writer and editor living near Toronto, Canada with his wife and two young sons. He edited the short story collection Short Trips: Transmissions for Big Finish Productions and is now working on World’s Collider, an apocalyptic anthology. He has sold over twenty short stories including tales in Solaris Rising: The New Solaris Book of Science Fiction, Phobophobia from Dark Continents Publishing and Machine of Death 2. Visit him online at www.richardsalter.com
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK
Cover illustration by Winona Nelson
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ISBN 978-0-85787-511-2
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