[Gotrek & Felix 12] - Zombieslayer

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  A short while later, Bosendorfer and the greatswords came back out of the underkeep in double file, carrying a corpse between them on a stretcher. Bosendorfer was at the back of the procession, carrying a two-handed sword outstretched in his hands and chanting a prayer, while Sergeant Leffler was at the front, the doublet, breeks and morion helm of a greatswords uniform held neatly folded in his arms.

  Felix and Kat stepped back as the procession shuffled to the pyre and the greatswords laid down the dead man and made the sign of the hammer over him.

  “Best to make yourself scarce, mein herr,” said Leffler out of the corner of his mouth, then nodded at the corpse. “That’s Hinkner, who was wounded when we was fighting them ghouls with you. Captain blames you for his dying. Says he’d still be alive if we hadn’t come back to the wall at yer call.”

  Felix sighed. “Very well, I’ll retire. Thank you for the warning—”

  “I told you not to speak to my men!”

  Felix turned. Bosendorfer was striding towards them angrily, the sword he had held in reverence now gripped at the hilt and ready to strike.

  Kat whipped out her skinning knife, but Felix held her back. “He was just telling me to get out of the way, captain,” he said.

  Bosendorfer laughed, harsh. “Get out of the way? You could not go far enough unless you left the castle!” His hands shook as he pointed the sword at Felix’s throat. “That you are alive to witness the funeral of a man you killed is a travesty! It should be you on this pyre, not Hinkner.”

  Felix knew he should back away. He knew he should say nothing and leave the captain and his men to their funeral, but that last jab had been too much, and his anger boiled over at last.

  “I am indeed sad to witness the funeral of a brave man wounded in battle,” he said, as cold as he could manage. “But if you want to throw someone on the fire for his death, captain, then it should be you who walks into the flames.”

  “What!” cried Bosendorfer. “What do you say?”

  Felix stepped closer to him as men all over the courtyard turned to listen. “The other night when we were raising toasts, you asked us all to pledge death to the man who had murdered the wounded who’d died in their cots. Do you remember?”

  “Of course I remember!” said Bosendorfer. “What has that to do with this?”

  “Nothing, but the fact that you are the murderer,” said Felix. “You are the one who killed those men. You are the one who killed Hinkner.”

  Bosendorfer raised the two-handed sword over his head, snarling, but there was a cast of unease in his eyes, as if he feared he faced a madman. “What are you saying? I’ve killed no one!”

  “Haven’t you?” asked Felix. “Who forced von Geldrecht to hide Surgeon Tauber away for fear of his life? And how many men would still live had he been free to care for them? Hinkner didn’t die in battle. He died from his wounds because Tauber couldn’t see to them. You killed him, captain. You killed all of them. And if you wish to fight me over it, I am ready.”

  He drew Karaghul and saluted, then stepped back into guard as the gathering crowd murmured and stared.

  Bosendorfer glared at him, then answered his guard. “Men may have died, but I saved the rest from worse. Tauber would have poisoned us all.” He raised his chin. “When you are ready, mein herr.”

  Kat remained crouched, her knife out, looking like she wanted to intervene, but finally she stepped back. This was an affair of honour now. It was between just Felix and Bosendorfer.

  Or it would have been, had not a higher power intervened.

  “Hold! Both of you!” cried von Volgen, striding across the courtyard at the head of his knights. “There will be no fighting among us!”

  Bosendorfer shifted around to face the Talabeclanders and his greatswords put their hands on their weapons.

  “You are not my commander,” said Bosendorfer stiffly. “You cannot order me.”

  “It is not a matter of orders and command,” said von Volgen, stopping before them. “It is a matter of survival. We must kill the enemy, not each other.”

  “But he has accused me of killing my own men!” shouted Bosendorfer.

  “You did!” called someone in the crowd.

  “It matters not,” said von Volgen, his eyes blazing. “You are both needed to defend Castle Reikguard.” He turned to Felix. “Apologise, Herr Jaeger, for the good of the Empire.”

  Felix curled his lip, defiant. Why should he apologise for speaking the truth? But after a second in the heat of von Volgen’s withering stare, he sighed. The Talabeclander was right. Fighting each other was insanity. He bowed to Bosendorfer. “Forgive me, captain,” he said. “I spoke out of turn.”

  Bosendorfer sneered. “That is all? You lied as well! You—”

  Von Volgen turned on him, cutting him off with a gesture. “Enough, greatsword! Accept the apology.”

  “Damned if I will!” said Bosendorfer, stepping forwards. “He has lied! He—”

  Von Volgen barred his way with his sword. “Accept it, captain,” he said, “and continue with your funeral.”

  “Who are you to order my troops!”

  Felix, Kat and the others turned and saw von Geldrecht lurching down the stairs from the keep at the head of Classen and a handful of household knights, his sagging face crimson and quivering with anger.

  Von Volgen bowed to him as the mob quieted. “Forgive me, my lord, but would you have me let them murder each other?”

  “I would have you leave the ordering to me,” von Geldrecht snarled, limping forwards. “You have no authority here, no matter what your rank!”

  “Nor do I seek it,” said von Volgen. “But if you are absent when trouble starts, what choice have I?”

  “You have the choice of leaving the castle if you dislike the way I am conducting its affairs,” said von Geldrecht.

  Von Volgen paused at this, his square jaw clenching, and Felix waited for the explosion. Here, he thought, was the breaking of the Talabeclander’s principles. Here was where the axe fell. In the face of such arrogant incompetence, could von Volgen really demur once again and let von Geldrecht continue to rule? Could he really let such stupidity pass without comment? Felix certainly hoped not.

  Von Volgen bowed, as stiff as a board. “Thank you, lord steward, but I will stay. We must remain united if Castle Reikguard is to stand. I only ask—I only ask that you return to us as soon as possible, and prepare us for the battle ahead.”

  Felix grunted, disappointed. The man’s moral code was going to doom them to von Geldrecht’s leadership, which would doom them to destruction.

  The steward, however, did not seem pleased with von Volgen’s answer. “You are ordering me again, Lord von Volgen!” he cried. “You are telling me what to do!”

  “No, my lord,” said von Volgen through clenched teeth. “I am asking to be ordered. I am asking you to take command!”

  Von Geldrecht’s face turned red with fury, and he looked like he was going to lay into von Volgen, but then a cunning look came into his eyes and he raised his chins. “Very well, my lord. Then I command you to surrender your sword to me, and turn over the leadership of your men to Sergeant Classen. You will be the guest of the keep until we are relieved.”

  Von Volgen stared, stunned, and didn’t seem to know what to say, but his men were not so dismayed. One of his captains drew his sword, and the others followed suit.

  “He will not take you without a fight, my lord,” said the captain.

  Von Geldrecht stepped back at this show of aggression and waved at Classen and Bosendorfer. “Knights, greatswords,” he said, “arrest them.”

  The two captains hesitated, then stepped forwards with their men lining up behind them. Von Volgen watched them come, and Felix could see him weighing his options. Did he defend himself? Did he surrender? Did he order his men to attack?

  Felix looked at Kat. She nodded, and they fell in on either side of von Volgen as the courtyard looked on, and Bosendorfer and Classen continued forwa
rds with their troops.

  “We are yours to order, my lord,” murmured Felix. “We will do as you ask.”

  Von Volgen grunted, his fist white-knuckled on the grip of his sword, then at last he raised his bulldog head and made to speak.

  A loud rumble from above interrupted him, and the flagstones shook beneath everyone’s feet. The lords and their men froze and looked to the walls, but the handgunners had raised no alarm. The sound had come from the sky. The low clouds over the castle had grown dark and pregnant while the drama below had unfolded, and lightning now flashed in their depths. The men stared, rooted to the spot, swords hanging slack in their hands, and then someone said what they were all thinking.

  “Rain! It’s going to rain!”

  “Fresh water!” called a spearman.

  “Get a wash tub!” cried a handgunner.

  All over the courtyard men turned and ran for their quarters, the confrontation between von Geldrecht and von Volgen forgotten. Even their own troops were staring at the sky.

  But as men began setting out pans and tubs and buckets, von Volgen returned his eyes to von Geldrecht, who looked back to him as well, and their men went on guard again. Felix held his breath as von Volgen clenched his jaw and raised his sword—then reversed it and held it out.

  “My lord steward,” he said, “I will not shed the blood of Empire men. You may do with me as you will.”

  Von Geldrecht slumped in relief, and motioned Bosendorfer and Classen forwards again, but they stopped as von Volgen put up a hand.

  “But,” he said, with a flat smile, “I would be forever in your debt, if you would wait to take me to my cell until I had a drink of water.”

  Von Geldrecht, who had stiffened when von Volgen spoke again, now relaxed and smiled. “But of course, my lord. I would not be ungracious.” He bowed. “You have the freedom of the courtyard until it rains.”

  Von Volgen nodded his thanks and turned to his knights. “Fetch your kit,” he said. “Buckets, helmets, anything that will hold water. Go.”

  The knights did not listen. They clustered around him, protesting his arrest, but he waved them down and told them to do as he ordered, and Felix let out a breath as they broke up and ran to collect their pots and pans.

  He would have stood with the Talabeclanders, but the idea of fighting Empire men was just as abhorrent to him as it was to von Volgen, and he was glad it hadn’t come to that—though it was a pity von Geldrecht was still in command.

  “An ill wind,” said Kat, echoing his thoughts.

  Felix nodded and looked up at the clouds, as Classen and Bosendorfer dismissed their men to find pots as well. It was going to be a brutal storm. He had rarely seen thunderheads so menacing. But was it his imagination, or did the lightning seemed tinged with red?

  SEVENTEEN

  All over the courtyard, the men not on wall duty feverishly laid out every receptacle they could find. In addition to bowls, pots and buckets, they were setting down helmets, wine glasses, tankards, even chamber pots and empty powder kegs. Some genuflected towards the temple of Sigmar to thank him for the blessing. Sister Willentrude knelt and prayed to Shallya. Von Volgen’s and von Geldrecht’s men, who only moments ago had been ready to kill each other for their commanders, laughed and rubbed elbows as they set out their rain-catchers.

  Felix, however, was finding it hard to get into the festive mood, and continued to shoot uneasy glances at the burgeoning clouds. Their bellies were now the bruised purple of an over-ripe plum, and the lightning that flickered through them still left a crimson afterimage on the backs of his eyes when he looked away. A thick fog had risen too, oily and cold, washing up against the walls of the castle like a grey sea, then spilling down into the courtyard so it was hard to see across to the opposite walls.

  The thunder had woken Gotrek, Rodi and Snorri, and they had joined Felix and Kat by the harbour to scowl at the sky with suspicious eyes.

  “Something’s not right,” said Gotrek.

  “Can Kemmler have poisoned the clouds?” asked Kat.

  Rodi shrugged. “Necromancers are tricky.”

  “Snorri doesn’t think it smells like rain,” said Snorri.

  Felix inhaled, but couldn’t smell anything but unwashed bodies, smoke and over-ripe dwarf.

  “Double water rations!” called one of the cooks from the door to the underkeep. He and the rest of the kitchen help were rolling out handcarts with open water barrels on them. “Steward von Geldrecht has declared two ladles for everyone!”

  A great cheer rose up, and the knights and foot soldiers started streaming towards the barrels, snatching up cups and glasses from the ground as they went.

  Kat stared after them. “But… but what if it doesn’t rain?”

  With unease slithering through his chest, Felix started across the yard with Kat at his side, searching for von Geldrecht, and found him in the door to the underkeep, watching the throng around the barrels like a benevolent lord on a feasting day.

  “My lord,” he said, lowering his voice as he stepped up to him, “this is a grand gesture, but are you sure it’s wise?”

  Von Geldrecht turned cold eyes on him. “You think I am interested in anything you have to say, Herr Jaeger? You stood against me with von Volgen.”

  Felix swallowed, then shrugged. There was no denying it. “I did,” said Felix, “but that doesn’t change—”

  “What can be wrong with giving my men something they desperately need?” snapped the steward.

  “Nothing, my lord,” said Kat through gritted teeth. “Unless it doesn’t rain.”

  The steward gave them a comical scowl. “Really, Herr Jaeger. You and your…”

  His voice trailed off as an icy wind whipped through the courtyard, swirling the fog and flickering the torches that were set at either side of the underkeep door. There was a moaning on the wind that sounded like the cries of the wounded after a battle, and as it grew louder, the last purple tint of twilight faded from the heavy clouds and darkness fell in an instant.

  All over the courtyard men looked up, shivering at this unnatural advent of night, but then, in the very next second, there was a blinding flash of lightning and a huge peal of thunder directly overhead, and the clouds let go at last.

  Whoops of joy echoed from every corner of the castle as a deluge of fat drops rained down on them, battering their faces and drenching their clothes. Men ran around with their arms outstretched and heads tilted back, laughing hysterically. Felix couldn’t help himself. Despite his worries, he joined them. He closed his eyes and spread his arms, letting himself get soaked to the skin, but as he opened his mouth to let the drops fall on his tongue, he smelled a strange but familiar metallic odour and wrinkled his nose.

  The rain felt thicker than it should too, and slick, almost greasy. Felix opened his eyes and turned to Kat, who was looking down at her cupped hands. He choked. In the yellow light of the torches, it almost looked like she was covered in—

  “Blood!” screamed someone. “Sigmar have mercy on us all, it’s raining blood!”

  All over the courtyard the defenders were coming to the same realisation, and it stopped them in their tracks. Some only stared uncomprehendingly up at the clouds, letting the red rain splash on their faces. Others shook and vomited, utterly repulsed, or threw themselves in the harbour to try to cleanse themselves, but the vast majority just raged and wept, the crash of disappointment after their hopes for salvation had been raised so high too much for them to bear.

  A servant holding a soup pot in shaking hands stared at the blood pooling in it. “It’s not right. It’s not right.”

  “What are we to drink?” asked a greatsword, wiping at his face. “It’s got into everything.”

  Then, from beyond the walls came the now-familiar rumble of Kemmler’s siege towers, and the gibbering of the ghouls.

  “They’re coming!” bellowed a handgunner from the walls. “To the walls! To the walls!”

  Kat and the slayers started immediately
for the stairs, while captains and sergeants shouted at their men and tried to pull them together, knocking pots out of their hands and hauling them to their feet, but as Felix started after his comrades, von Volgen stepped past him to von Geldrecht and saluted.

  “It seems I won’t be getting my water, my lord,” he said, holding out his sword. “So I am your prisoner.”

  Von Geldrecht pulled his eyes away from the haemorrhaging clouds and stared at him, blood-rain streaming down his face. “Are—are you mad?” he choked. “Get to the walls! Lead your men!”

  Von Volgen inclined his head, his face impassive. “Very good, my lord. Thank you. And may I suggest you do the same?”

  Von Geldrecht glared after von Volgen, enraged all over again, as the Talabeclander turned and hurried to his men, but the goad seemed to have worked, for as Felix ran after Kat and the slayers, he heard the steward shouting behind him.

  “To the walls, Reiklanders!” he roared. “For Castle Reikguard! For the graf!”

  The zombies were already coming over the battlements as Felix, Kat and the slayers mounted the walls. Rotting claws and maggot-spewing jaws swiped and snapped at the defenders as they raced to drive back the dead and throw down their ladders. But the corpses were only the first wave. Beyond them, emerging out of the fog like the ghosts of lurching, shrouded giants, came Kemmler’s siege towers, their gangs of skinless beast-corpses marching over bridges of the dead, and their fighting tops crawling with shrieking, red-eyed ghouls. As before, two of the towers were aiming for either side of the gatehouse, while the third groaned towards the corner nearest the blasted and replugged dike, and all three were going to hit before the men of Castle Reikguard could mount a solid defence. There was no way they would keep the dead from gaining a foothold on the walls.

  “We will defend the gatehouse until the humans clear the parapet,” said Gotrek, bulling for the door into the gatehouse’s upper floor. “Snorri Nosebiter, you and Rodi Balkisson hold this door,” he said. “The manling, the little one and I will hold the opposite door.”