[Gotrek & Felix 12] - Zombieslayer

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  Kemmler cried out in fear and raised his staff, and the landing was all at once choked with mist and shadows that blossomed like flames from his cloak. The Slayer plunged into the swirling darkness, axe high, but a second later the cloud dissipated again and revealed him slashing around at nothing, alone on the landing.

  At the same time, as Felix and Kat fell back another step before the wights’ attacks, tendrils of darkness began to curl around Graf Reiklander and Avelein, who now stood on her own, dead-eyed, as blood streamed down her neck. Kemmler appeared out of the mist behind them, then opened his cloak and enveloped them in its black folds.

  “Come, children, we have work to do,” he said, then raised his voice to the wights. “Finish them, then join your brothers at the gate.”

  Gotrek bellowed and thundered back down the stairs, but the graf and the grafin and the necromancer vanished into the cloud of smoke, and by the time he reached it, it had dissipated into nothing and a trio of howling wights was turning to surround him with slashing bronze axes.

  Felix and Kat tried to fight to him, but they could make no headway. Nor could any of the others. Indeed they were being driven back on all sides. Von Volgen was fighting one-handed now, his left hand mangled and missing fingers, and the young handgunner and spearman fought back to back above the butchered body of the artilleryman. Beside them, a wight dashed Sergeant Classen’s brains out, and his body crashed into Bosendorfer and Sergeant Leffler. Bosendorfer stumbled at the impact and dropped his guard, and the wight’s verdigrised axe bit deep into his guts.

  With a cry of rage and grief, Leffler crushed the wight’s skull, then dragged Bosendorfer back out of the way.

  Felix and Kat surged forwards to guard their retreat and ended up beside von Volgen, who was falling back before two other wights.

  “Do you hear it?” he asked, blood spraying from his lips. “There is fighting at the inner gate. We must go. We must defend it.”

  Over the clash and clang around him, Felix did hear it—a faint roaring and clashing from outside. He laughed bleakly, and was going to make a remark about not being able to defend themselves, but the words died as, in a single stroke, a wight cut down the young spearman and handgunner, chopping them both nearly in two, and Kat had to twist aside to avoid being butchered too. Felix cursed and shoved forwards to protect her, driving it back in a flurry of strokes, but as it stepped back, Gotrek suddenly flew back and crushed it flat as he crashed to the floor, a bloody gash across his chest.

  The three wights strode after him, raising their axes, and he scrambled up again and leapt at them as fiercely as ever, but his breath was whistling like a bellows with a hole in it, and his crimson face was running with sweat.

  This was the Slayer’s doom, thought Felix, as wights slashed at them from every direction and anger began to boil in his guts. What a misery! It might be better than dying from poisoned slivers, but not by much. Instead of the doom he should have had, instead of dying a grand death at the hands of Krell the Holdbreaker, the Lord of the Undead—a truly fitting end to an epic life—the Slayer was going to be overwhelmed by nameless wights in a pointless skirmish, as the final battle for the gates of Castle Reikguard happened offstage. It didn’t seem right. The only consolation Felix could find was that when the Slayer died, he would die too, and wouldn’t have to write such an anticlimactic finale.

  A deafening bang punched Felix’s ears, and the skull of the wight he and Kat fought exploded in a spray of bone shards. Another bang, and a hole appeared in the breastplate of one that was driving back von Volgen.

  “At ’em, lads!” cried a voice from behind. “They’re between us and the tunnel!”

  As Felix stumbled back from the collapsing wight, Draeger’s men flooded past him, hacking at the ancient warriors in a frenzy and cutting their way to Gotrek.

  Kat blinked around in wonder. “They’re fighting.”

  “Even a rat will fight when cornered,” grunted von Volgen.

  Draeger strode past them, sword in one hand, smoking pistol in the other. His pockets were overflowing with necklaces, and he had a jewelled sword strapped around his waist. “That’s the way, lads! Through them and we’re free!”

  Felix, Kat, von Volgen and Sergeant Leffler lurched after the militiamen and joined their line. With escape so close at hand, the men fought with a will Felix had not seen in them before. Even so, they were letting Gotrek do most of the work, but the Slayer didn’t seem to mind. With his flanks protected, he chopped through the wights like a vandal smashing statues, shearing through ancient breastplates and shattering bones in clouds of dust and bronze shrapnel as he drove them onto the landing. He kicked one back through the stair-rail to smash on the floor below. A half-dozen more followed as the militiamen crowded in around them, and finally there were none left, and Gotrek stood at the broken rail, panting and hawking noisily.

  “Down!” said von Volgen, limping for the stair and beckoning the others to follow. “We cannot rest yet. There are more at the inner gate!”

  But the militiamen stopped where they were, and Draeger, who hadn’t done much during the fight other than wave his sword about, did so again now.

  “Well done, lads!” he cried. “Now up and away! Karl Franz’s bolt hole awaits!”

  The militiamen cheered and turned to scramble up the stairs as von Volgen turned towards Draeger, furious.

  “You may not leave!” he barked. “You are needed at the gate! We may yet hold out!”

  Draeger backed away, smirking. “Sorry, m’lord. As I said all along, this ain’t our posting. Best of luck to yer.”

  And with that, he turned and ran after his men. Von Volgen cursed and staggered after him, but he was too winded and hurt to catch him.

  “Forget them,” Gotrek grunted as he gulped in greedy swallows of air. “You don’t need cowards. Let’s go.”

  Felix mopped his brow and turned to the stairs with the others, but a weak voice stopped them. “Sergeant, Jaeger.”

  Bosendorfer was raising himself up on one elbow. Felix winced as he turned to see the man’s guts spilling through a hole in his breastplate. He crossed to him with Leffler and knelt beside him. “I wasn’t leaving you, captain,” said the sergeant. Bosendorfer waved him silent. “You must. I go to Sigmar’s halls, to beg forgiveness of the men I sent there.” He turned fevered eyes on Felix and gripped his arm. “Jaeger. You led my men better than I. If—” He stopped as bloody coughing racked him, then continued. “If they will have you, lead them now.”

  Felix swallowed, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t a duty he wanted, but he couldn’t deny a dying man. “If they will have me, captain,” he said.

  Bosendorfer nodded, seemingly content, then lay back, clutching his chest with a gauntleted hand. “Sigmar, that hurts.”

  It was the last thing he ever said. With a mechanical rattle, his last breath escaped him and his arms slumped to his sides.

  Felix and Kat bowed their heads as Sergeant Leffler covered his face.

  “May Sigmar welcome you, greatsword,” whispered Kat, closing his eyes. “May Morr keep you from Kemmler’s clutches.”

  Von Volgen coughed from the stairs. “Come. There will be time later to grieve,” he said, “if we live.”

  All was darkness and clamour as Gotrek, Felix, Kat, von Volgen and Sergeant Leffler ran out into the keep’s courtyard. The screams and clashings of battle filled the night, and the sickly green light of Morrslieb, glowing through the clouds like warpstone at the bottom of a pail of soured milk, glinted on the thrashing of armoured limbs and the wet red of bloody weapons.

  The four humans and the Slayer hurried towards the action along a trail of butchered bodies—spearmen, knights, ghouls and wights—that led across the courtyard to the inner gatehouse, where the last of von Volgen’s men and the few remaining household knights guarded the doors of the gatehouse from a surging ring of ghouls, zombies and towering bronze-armoured wights that hacked and clawed at them with tireless savagery.

>   To the left of the gatehouse, a handful of greatswords were holding the parapet stairs against a stream of corpses that poured down them, while on the walls above, a weary crew of spearmen and handgunners ran back and forth along the battlements, trying to drive back and topple the ladders of the zombies and ghouls that were climbing over at a dozen points.

  But though these were all desperate battles, it was the fight that raged on the top of the gatehouse, silhouetted against the moon-bright clouds, that made Felix’s guts sink and Gotrek grunt with anger. Snorri Nosebiter, his booming laugh echoing loud across the courtyard, was going toe to toe with Krell, the Lord of the Undead.

  “Curse you, Nosebiter,” growled Gotrek, and veered for the stairs at a run.

  Felix was about to follow, but then remembered the greatswords. He turned to Leffler.

  “Sergeant,” he said. “Forgive me. I cannot lead you. I am oathbound to the Slayer, and must follow him. You are their leader now.”

  Before the sergeant could answer, however, von Volgen turned to both of them.

  “Take the greatswords with you, Herr Jaeger,” he said. “I and the knights can hold the doors, I think, but not if the dead keep pouring in from above. Hold them at the battlements until we can finish the wights, and we just may have a chance.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Felix.

  But as he ran after Gotrek with Kat and the sergeant, and von Volgen ran towards the gate, Felix wondered if they did have a chance. The men were weary and starving and desperately outnumbered, and even if they could stop the wights and hold the doors closed, Kemmler was already somewhere inside. What hope had they against him? The necromancer had taken the graf and the grafin and said they had work to do. What would be the fruit of that labour? Felix shivered with anticipatory dread.

  “Make a hole, lads!” cried Leffler as Gotrek raced up behind the greatswords who held the base of the stairs.

  “Let the Slayer through!”

  The greatswords glanced back, then parted as Gotrek shoved to their front line and slammed into the clot of undead at the bottom of the stairs.

  From Felix’s vantage, it looked like an orange-crested bomb had hit them. A shockwave of force ripped through them, knocking down zombies and ghouls further up the steps, and limbs and heads and trailing viscera flew in all directions.

  “Follow the Slayer!” shouted Felix. “To the walls!”

  The greatswords glanced around from their fights, wary, as he and Kat pushed through after Gotrek.

  “Where’s the captain?” asked one.

  “I’ll not go against him again,” said another.

  “The captain fell to the wights,” called Leffler. “He told Herr Jaeger to lead us.”

  “I’ll not order you,” said Felix, looking back at them. “I haven’t earned that. But I’d have you with me if you’ll come.”

  And with that he turned with Kat and hurried after Gotrek, not looking back to see if they followed.

  “To the walls!” roared Sergeant Leffler, and to Felix’s surprise, the cry was echoed tenfold.

  “To the walls!”

  Gotrek was halfway up the stairs, corpses and fiends toppling before him in a rain of butchered flesh and body parts. Felix and Kat fell in behind him, severing the heads of those that Gotrek had only wounded, and Felix stole a glance to the wall.

  Krell was driving Snorri back towards the river side of the castle, knocking him around like a bear slapping at a pit dog. The old slayer got up and charged back in every time, but Krell just knocked him down again and took another step forwards. Felix tried to see if Snorri had taken a cut from Krell’s axe, but he was covered in cuts from head to toe, and there was no way to tell what had made which. “Manling,” coughed Gotrek, as they fought on. “You will take Snorri Nosebiter to the escape tunnel.”

  “Aye, Gotrek,” said Felix, then looked unhappily around at the battle. “But—”

  “The castle will fall,” said Gotrek. “No matter how hard we fight. Fulfill your vow. Bring Nosebiter to Karak Kadrin.”

  “Aye, Gotrek.”

  The Slayer smashed a beast-corpse from the top step and he, Felix and Kat surged onto the parapet as the thing toppled to the courtyard below. The greatswords followed behind as they started towards Snorri’s fight, and they all moved along the wall like some centipedal killing machine—Gotrek, Felix and Kat at the front, carving a path through the dead that were climbing over the battlements, and the greatswords at the sides, their two-handed blades scything down anything they missed.

  A great cheer went up from the beleaguered spearmen and handgunners, and they took advantage of the greatswords’ clean sweep to stave off and knock down a dozen ladders while the walls were clear. But as Felix looked back, he saw that without reinforcements, the reprieve would only be temporary. Already new ladders were slapping up against the wall and new zombies climbing them.

  Felix turned to the greatswords. “Leave me,” he said.

  “Spread out on the walls. Hold back the zombies.”

  The greatswords looked unhappy at this, and stayed in formation. “Damn you!” Felix shouted. “Now I am ordering you!

  “The Slayer needs no help! Defend the walls!”

  “You heard him!” roared Leffler. “Face left! Spread out! Drive the bastards back!” And as the men slowed and turned, he gave Felix a smile and a sharp salute. “On yer way, captain. They’ll do you proud, I promise.”

  Felix nodded, embarrassed. “Thank you, sergeant,” he said, and almost added “goodbye”, but decided that was too pessimistic. “Sigmar watch over you.”

  He turned and ran after Gotrek and Kat, who were charging towards the tower above the river where Krell had driven Snorri.

  “Back off, Nosebiter! He’s mine!” roared Gotrek as Snorri picked himself up and flung himself at Krell again. “Turn, butcher! It’s me you want to fight!”

  Krell turned as Gotrek leapt, and the Slayer’s axe—its rune blazing—sliced through his breastplate, opening a ragged hole that showed bone beneath. Krell bellowed and fell back, swiping his axe in wild desperation. Gotrek ducked the swing and came in again, chopping at the undead champion’s legs and forcing him back.

  Snorri whooped and charged in too, swinging his warhammer in a blurring arc, but Gotrek stiff-armed the old slayer and sent him stumbling back.

  “Enough, Nosebiter,” growled Gotrek. “Your pilgrimage starts now.” He shoved Snorri towards Felix and Kat. “Get him out. Go.”

  “Aye, Gotrek,” said Felix, shocked at the suddenness of it. “Then I guess this is good—”

  But the Slayer was already charging Krell again, his rune axe raised over his head. The wight king roared in to meet him, and sparks and grit flew as their axes struck and counter-struck in a hurricane of rune-glow and obsidian.

  Felix put a hand on Snorri’s shoulder. “Come, Snorri,” he said. “We’d better go.”

  The old slayer politely removed Felix’s hand without looking away from the fight. “No thank you, young Felix. If Gotrek Gurnisson meets his doom, Snorri must avenge it.”

  Felix clenched his jaw. “But Gotrek doesn’t want that, Snorri. He wants you to go to Karak Kadrin.”

  “Snorri knows,” said Snorri. “He will go after this.” Felix groaned and glanced down to the courtyard, then back along the wall—the way they would have to go to get to the escape tunnel. His guts filled with ice. Von Volgen’s strategy was failing. There weren’t enough defenders left to make it work. At the gate, von Volgen and the last few knights fought with their backs to the doors, the wights and ghouls and zombies eight deep around them. On the battlements, the greatswords and the spearmen and the handgunners were being overwhelmed as more and more ladders rose and more and more zombies and ghouls crawled over the crenellations to surround them. If Felix didn’t get Snorri away soon, there would be no leaving.

  “Snorri,” said Kat, touching his arm. “Please. Are you willing to give up going to Grimnir’s halls to avenge Gotrek? Do you want to wander
forever in the afterlife?”

  Snorri continued to watch as Gotrek and Krell battered each other, but his jaw set, and his face grew harder than Felix had ever seen it. “Gotrek Gurnisson is my friend.”

  Kat bit her lip, and a lump formed in Felix’s throat. Both the slayers were willing to die for each other—more than die! To save Snorri’s afterlife, Gotrek was prepared to dismiss Felix and allow his doom to go unremembered, and to avenge Gotrek’s death, Snorri was prepared to give up his afterlife. Who would dare interfere with a bond as strong as that? And yet, a vow was a vow, so Felix must.

  He wondered if he should try to knock Snorri unconscious and drag him away, the way Rodi had done at the battle of Tarnhalt’s Crown, but he feared it wouldn’t work. If a slayer couldn’t hit Snorri hard enough to keep him under, Felix doubted he could do it.

  A blood-chilling shriek of victory brought Felix’s attention back to the courtyard, and he groaned. The last of the knights were falling under the crush of the undead, and the ghouls and wights were pouring through the smashed-in doors of the gatehouse. Felix saw von Volgen hack off the skull of an armoured ancient before being gored and trampled by a beast-corpse with the horns of a bull.

  A second later, there was a ratcheting clatter and the heavy doors of the inner gate began to swing ponderously open, letting in a spreading mass of shambling undead. The inner court was breached. Castle Reikguard had truly fallen.

  He looked back to the walls. The defenders were dying there too, the spearmen and handgunners and greatswords disappearing beneath a tide of zombies and ghouls that poured over the walls. Sergeant Leffler was the last still on his feet, reeling and whirling his two-handed blade around his grizzled head, but as Felix watched, a ghoul leapt on his back and bore him down, and the rest fell upon him like swarming rats. He had held to the end.