“We’ll try to be as brief as possible,” said the general, as a scribe at his shoulder began to make notes in a big book. “But we must ask you some—”
“Where is the Slayer?” asked Felix. “Gotrek. Is he—”
Max leaned in, cutting him off. “He’s with the surgeons, Felix. They’re doing everything they can.”
“No,” said Felix, heart thudding. “You don’t know. They don’t know. The axe. Krell’s axe. It struck him. It left poisoned slivers in the wound. They’re killing him!”
The sombre twins raised their heads, and Max’s eyes widened.
“Poisoned slivers?” he asked.
Felix nodded. “The Slayer said they burrow to the heart. I fear they have already reached it.”
Max paled and turned to the general. “My lord, if you would excuse me.”
“Go,” he said. “We will make record of our conversation here.”
Max stood and hurried from the cottage. Felix wanted to get up and go with him. He should be with Gotrek, not here, talking.
General von Uhland turned back to him. “He will be well taken care of, Herr Jaeger. I promise you. Now, we had the story from your friend with the—the nails in his head, but it was a bit confused. We’d like you to—”
“My father and mother,” broke in the dark-haired young man, leaning forwards with anxious eyes. “Do they still live?”
Felix looked at him, bewildered. “I—who are your father and mother?”
“This is Master Dominic Reiklander,” said the general. “Son of the graf and grafin.”
Felix’s face fell as he remembered the last time he saw them, when the undead graf had torn his wife’s throat out. The boy read his expression and looked away before he could speak.
“I’m sorry. They…” Felix didn’t want to go into details. “They didn’t survive.”
Dominic nodded, then stood abruptly and crossed to the hearth to stare into the fire.
Von Uhland looked at him, then turned back. “This Krell you mentioned. He is the leader of the undead?”
Felix shook his head. “Krell is a lieutenant. The necromancer who raised the horde is named Kemmler. I know little about him, but he is capable of raising thousands of undead, and blighting food and drink, and—”
“I know of him,” said the general, grim. “Though I had heard he was dead, killed by Duke Tancred of Quenelles in Bretonnia.” He cursed, then looked back at Felix. “And his plans? The message General Nordling sent said the fiend meant to march on Altdorf. Do you know his numbers?”
“I would guess more than eight thousand,” said Felix. “Perhaps as many as ten. Men and beastmen alike, as well as picked troops of ancient warriors, giant bats, ghouls, spirits. And…” He looked apprehensively at Dominic’s back. “And, I fear he has some further plans for the graf and grafin.”
The young lord turned, dark eyes flashing. “What? What do you say?”
Felix swallowed, wishing he didn’t have to go on. “He raised them, my lord, but I fear that was only the beginning…”
The young lord looked stricken, and had to sit down, but then looked up and fixed Felix with a hard eye. “Tell me.”
Felix shrugged. “I wish I knew more to tell. He raised them and took them away, saying they had ‘work to do’. What that could have been, I don’t know. But it kept him from the final battle.”
Dominic buried his head in his hands. “He will pay,” he said. “No matter what he’s done. Their deaths and desecration cannot go unavenged.”
The sad-eyed priest of Morr cleared his throat. “This does not bode well,” he said.
Von Uhland looked at him. “You know what he intends to do, Father Marwalt?”
The priest shook his head, but it was his brother who answered.
“Not precisely,” said the Amethyst magister. “But if he is using the graf and grafin in his ritual, it may mean that he is preparing something that will affect all of the Reikland.”
Von Uhland frowned. “I don’t understand, Magister Marhalt,” he said. “How could their corpses help him?”
“In magic, there is power in name and place,” intoned Father Marwalt. “Castle Reikguard is the ancient seat of the Reikland princes, the place from which the province was once ruled, and still the sometime home of the ruler of us all, Karl Franz.”
“And the graf and grafin are the rulers of Castle Reikguard,” continued Magister Marhalt. “Therefore, symbolically at least, the rulers of the Reikland.”
“A ritual performed in Castle Reikguard, upon the rulers of Castle Reikguard, could be used to affect all the lands that make up its domain,” finished Father Marwalt.
Von Uhland stared at them. “What could he do?” he asked. “What would this ritual be? Could he raise all the dead from here to Altdorf?”
The father and the magister shrugged their narrow shoulders simultaneously. “Who can know?” they said in unison. “It might be anything.”
“And how long?” asked von Uhland, licking his lips. “How long would such a spell take?”
The twins shrugged again.
“A ritual that powerful might take days or weeks,” said Magister Marhalt.
“And it has already been days,” said Father Marwalt.
Von Uhland paled and stood. “No more time can be lost,” he said, turning to the door. “I will survey the position, and then we will move.”
“I will come with you,” said Dominic, stepping to him. “I know the castle as I know my hands, and the secret ways in and out as well.”
Felix thought of Kat, and struggled to push up from the bed. “I’ll come too,” he said. “I must return to—”
Von Uhland put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back. “Rest, Herr Jaeger. The Reiksguard has the situation in hand. But thank you for your insight and information.”
“But…” said Felix.
The general was already walking out the door with Dominic Reiklander on his heels. Felix glared after them. Who was Uhland to tell him to rest? He wasn’t going to idle in bed when Kat was in danger. He threw off the covers and pushed himself to a sitting position, then clutched the edges of the cot while the room spun around him.
Felix took deep breaths until the sensation passed. He wanted desperately to lie down again, but he wouldn’t. He had to go with von Uhland and Dominic. He shifted his legs over the side of the cot and wobbled to his feet, then paused for the spinning to fade again, and started for the door.
Max appeared in it before he reached it. “Felix,” he said, his face grave. “Gotrek is dying. Come with me.”
TWENTY-THREE
Max led Felix through the red-bordered door of the sick tent, then stood aside. The Slayer lay on a cot against the back wall, his one eye closed, and his arms, legs and torso covered in bruises, bandages and stitches. Snorri stood beside him, a new peg on his stump, and stared down at him silently. Off to one side the Sister of Shallya was helping a surgeon pack up his scalpels, needles and thread.
“We did all we could, Felix,” said Max. “The surgeon cleaned and patched every wound he could find, while the abbess prayed to Shallya to heal the damage done to Gotrek’s internal organs. I performed every spell of cleansing and healing I know, but… but there has been no change. It seems we were too late.”
Felix nodded dully, then crossed to the cot and stood beside Snorri. Gotrek lay as if asleep, his brows furrowed, but his chest did not seem to rise and fall. He made no movement at all. “He still lives,” said Max, “but not for long. It is only a matter of time.”
Felix knelt beside the cot and leaned in. “Gotrek,” he said. “Please. Don’t let your doom be a few specks of glass. Krell lives. Go back and finish him. Get your revenge and help me rescue Kat.”
There was no change in the Slayer’s face. Felix hadn’t really expected one, but it still hurt when it didn’t come. He hung his head, then stood again, his fists balling at his sides.
“He should have his axe,” he blurted. “He shouldn’t d
ie without his axe.”
“Snorri will get it,” said Snorri heavily, then turned and walked out of the tent.
Max coughed from the door. “If there is anything you need, Felix,” he said.
Felix shook his head. “Just—just some time.”
Max nodded and motioned to the surgeon and abbess, then stepped to the door as they filed out. “I’ll see you’re not disturbed.”
Rage boiled in Felix’s chest as he looked down at the Slayer. This was not how it was supposed to end. The Slayer was not supposed to die in bed. He was not supposed to go quietly. He was supposed to go down fighting, bleeding from a hundred cuts and torn to pieces by the death throes of the monstrous enemy he had just slain. This was pathetic, the worst end for Gotrek’s saga that he could imagine. He would never have written it like this. Never!
Twenty years and more of travelling with the Slayer, fighting beside him, weathering his moods and sharing his triumphs—it had all seemed like it was building to something. He had felt that the epic would have a finish worthy of its chapters. Curse Krell! Curse him for a cheat and poisoning coward! And curse Rodi too, for robbing Gotrek of a true slayer’s death while he was still well enough to take it.
Felix turned away, snarling. Everything was wrong now. Everything! The Slayer had died poorly, and though, because of that, Felix was now free of his vow to him, what did that freedom hold? Nothing. It was meant to have been a new beginning for him—a new life with Kat, where they would go where they liked and do what they wanted, alone together at last, but it had been at least two days since he and Snorri and Gotrek had fallen from the walls of Castle Reikguard. There was no way Kat could still be alive after all that time. He would of course go with General von Uhland and find out for himself, but he already knew the answer. She was dead, and with her death, his dream of a better future died as well.
Snorri limped back into the tent and held out Gotrek’s rune axe. “Here it is, young Felix,” he said.
Felix stepped to him and took the weapon, and almost dropped it. It was unsettlingly heavy. With a grunt, he heaved it up and crossed to Gotrek’s cot, then laid it on the Slayer’s bearded chest and crossed his heavy hands over it.
“There, Gotrek,” he said, standing. “You’ll need that in Grimnir’s halls.”
Snorri stood on the opposite side of the cot and bowed his head. “May Grimnir welcome you, Gotrek son of Gurni,” he said.
This at least was right, thought Felix—that he and Snorri were there, and that the right things had been said. He decided he would stay and stand vigil over Gotrek until the sisters told him he was dead. He had vowed to the Slayer that he would witness his end, and if this sad, silent passing was it, then he would not fail that vow. If only he didn’t feel like he was going to fall over at any second.
Felix looked around and saw a camp chair off to one side. He dragged it to the cot and sat. He would sit vigil then. It would be the same.
Felix snapped awake, panic seizing him. How long had he been asleep? He looked to the door. Red twilight filtered into the tent. No! It hadn’t been noon when he’d sat down in the chair. How had this happened? How had he let himself fall asleep?
He turned to Gotrek’s cot.
It was empty.
The panic in Felix’s chest turned to cold dread, then crushing guilt. Gotrek had died. Snorri had taken him away to be buried, and Felix had missed it. He had not witnessed the Slayer’s end. He had not been by his side in his final moments. He had failed in the duty that he had sworn to keep for twenty years. Now anger surged up to join the guilt. Damn Snorri! Why hadn’t he woken him? Why hadn’t he warned him when the end was drawing near?
Felix struggled up out of the chair and nearly fell on his face. He was much recovered from his wounds, and his arm no longer throbbed, but the dizziness still lingered, and he was so hungry he could barely stand.
He recovered and pushed unsteadily into a maze of tents. In the short time they had been here, the relief force had transformed the little village into a bustling camp, and one that was preparing for war. Knights and squires and grooms hurried by, carrying armour and saddles, and the harsh cries of sergeants echoed from every direction.
Felix took a right, heading—he hoped—for the main road through the village. He had to find Max or Snorri or the abbess of Shallya and ask them what had happened—and they would get a piece of his mind for letting him sleep through the death of his dearest friend.
After another turning, he found the road, and looked both ways. A large tent with the banner of the Reiksguard knights flapping above it sat beyond the shack he and Snorri had sheltered in. That would be the command tent. He started towards it, but before he had taken more than five steps, an intoxicating smell nearly stopped him in his tracks. Someone was roasting pork, and there was gravy too.
He turned towards the delicious scent just in time to hear a familiar voice say, “Snorri would like more beer, please.”
Felix’s heart lurched and he stumbled forwards. The old slayer sounded very calm. Did he not know what had happened to Gotrek? Or had he forgotten already? Sigmar, that would be a terrible thing! The mess tent was just ahead on the left. Felix ducked through the canvas flaps, scanning for the old slayer.
“Snorri,” he said. “There you are. I—”
He cut off as the scene in the tent came into focus. Snorri sat at a long mess table in the middle of the room, with a feast of food before him and a huge mug of beer in his fist, and across from him, head down and fork shovelling food into his mouth like some sort of machine, was Gotrek.
“Hello, young Felix,” said Snorri, waving a well-stripped bone.
Gotrek raised his single eye to Felix, scowling. “Finally awake, manling?” he asked. “Now’s not the time to sleep. There’s work to be done.”
“Gotrek!” said Felix, but then a lump rose up in his throat and he found he couldn’t say anything else, which was just as well, really. It would have only been something sentimental, and Gotrek would have thought him weak.
“Aye?” said the Slayer. “What?”
He was not quite his old self. He looked as strong as ever, and he ate with his usual relish, but his movements were somewhat stiff, and he was uncharacteristically pale, while his face had lines and scars upon it that hadn’t been there before they’d come to Castle Reikguard. But how was he alive at all? Max had said all their prayers and spells and surgery hadn’t worked. Had they only taken some time to take effect? Had the Slayer recovered by sheer force of will? He thought of asking, but Gotrek would likely have snorted at that too.
“Nothing,” Felix said at last, forcing down the lump. “It… it’s good to see you, that’s all.”
“Herr Jaeger,” called someone. “Come here. Eat while we talk. We must be moving soon.”
Felix turned and saw General von Uhland. Indeed, now that he had got over finding Gotrek alive he saw that there was quite a gathering in the tent. General von Uhland and Lord Dominic Reiklander, still dressed for scouting, sat with a small circle of officers, while Max Schreiber, Father Marwalt and his twin, Magister Marhalt, sat beside them.
Felix sat and stabbed a few slices of ham from the platter, then slathered a slice of bread with butter. So this was how generals ate, he thought. No wonder they all got fat, no matter how much campaigning they did. Well, he was all for it now, and stuffed his mouth full with both hands. Sigmar, it was good! The juice of the ham ran down his throat like the elixir of life. He never wanted to stop eating.
“We have a challenge ahead of us, Herr Jaeger,” said General von Uhland as he ate. “Kemmler’s undead are dismantling Castle Reikguard. Already all of the buildings of the lower courtyard have been put to the torch, and the exterior walls have lost most of their crenellations.” He gave a grim smile. “Were we to wait long enough, he would tear down the walls entirely, and we could ride in and attack, but we cannot wait. We cannot allow Castle Reikguard to become indefensible. We must win it back as whole as we can.”
“But how are we to get in without smashing down the gates or the walls?” asked one of the general’s officers. “Can we climb in?”
“It would be a slaughter,” said another man. “The dead would tear us apart as we topped the walls.”
“With luck, it won’t come to that,” said von Uhland. He nodded to Dominic. “Lord Reiklander knows of a secret way into the castle that comes out in Karl Franz’s apartments. A picked squad of men—”
“Kemmler knows that route,” said Felix. “He used it. It will be guarded.”
Dominic’s head came up. “How? How did he learn of it? Who betrayed the secret?”
Felix hesitated. He was fairly certain it had been Dominic’s mother who had told Kemmler the way in—thinking she was inviting in the kindly old man who would cure her husband. “I—I don’t know,” he said.
“It doesn’t much matter how he knows,” said von Uhland. “The question is, how well will it be guarded?”
Gotrek raised his head from his shovelling and swallowed noisily. “That doesn’t matter either,” he said. “Nothing will stop me from facing Krell again.”
“Same goes for Snorri,” said Snorri.
Gotrek shot the old slayer an angry look at that, but Snorri didn’t seem to notice.
“I was hoping you would say that, Slayer Gurnisson,” said von Uhland. “Someone must get in and open the gates for us, someone who knows the castle and who has the ability to reach the lower gatehouse. Someone who is quite prepared to die.”
“A Slayer is always prepared to die,” said Gotrek.
“I will go too!” said Dominic.
The general pursed his lips. “My lord Reiklander, I cannot of course forbid you, but with your father dead you are the last heir of Castle Reikguard. It would be wiser if you stayed with the main force, and fought in the storming.”
“No!” said Dominic, his jaw clenching. “Reikguard is my castle. I will not have it handed to me by my uncle’s honour guard. I will take it. I will lead the infiltration!”
[Gotrek & Felix 12] - Zombieslayer Page 31