by William King
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Warhammer
Map
Author Introduction
Geheimnisnacht
Wolf Riders
The Dark Beneath the World
The Mark of Slaanesh
Blood and Darkness
The Mutant Master
Ulric's Children
About the Author
Extract from 'Skavenslayer'
Legal
eBook license
This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the world’s ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.
At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl Franz, sacred descendant of the founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.
But these are far from civilised times. Across the length and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come rumblings of war. In the towering Worlds Edge Mountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods.
As the time of battle draws ever near, the Empire needs heroes like never before.
AUTHOR INTRODUCTION
People often ask me how Gotrek Gurnisson dies. I usually give an evasive answer, but the truth is that I have already written his death scene. I did it in the very first version of the very first story of this book, ‘Geheimnisnacht’. If you look closely, you can even see where it happens. There’s a moment where the Slayer (and he was a Slayer a long time before Buffy) goes down beneath a tide of mutants. In the original version of the story, that’s where he dies and Felix has to save himself.
Reading over my first draft on that long-ago day some time in 1988, I thought wait a minute, what am I doing? These are great characters. They could run and run. It wasn’t just purely mercenary considerations that made me think that, although even at the relatively youthful age of 28, I had a sound grasp on the commercial realities – series sell. There was something about this pair. They were more than just echoes of the classic sword and sorcery duos that had influenced me, such as Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, or Moonglum and Elric. Right from the get-go, Gotrek and Felix were very clearly themselves. They had personalities. They were amusing (to me at least). They were visually distinctive. They leapt right off the page.
In part that’s because of where they came from. These days, the influence of Warhammer is everywhere: in games, in comics, in novels. I’ve seen people on the Internet refer to it as simple generic fantasy and that might even be true to a generation that has grown up with it. To someone of my age, who had grown up with Tolkien and the clones that followed, it was anything but generic. It was a revelation. Here was a world that reflected the grubby realities of the late medieval/early Renaissance period as I had studied them in history. And it was quite clearly written by people who knew their stuff about that period. It had gunpowder and complex politics and an interesting economy. The shadow of the Reformation and the European religious wars hung over it.
It had sinister apocalyptic cults lurking in the background, working away to undermine civilisation. It had fantastic imagery. Gotrek and Felix were citizens of that world. Felix is a representative of the rising mercantile classes. Gotrek is a drunken and savage member of an elder race that’s on the slide. You look over their shoulders and you can see where they came from.
In part they are how they are because of where I came from. I don’t mean the influence of working class Scottish culture either, although there are definite traces of it in Gotrek’s hard man persona and black humour. It comes from how I got into Warhammer. Unlike the majority of people, I did not get into it from the miniatures side but from the role-playing side. I was an enthusiastic player of Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay from the very start. I chose to write about a dwarf Slayer because they were the most popular role in the game among my players, and it was easy to see why. They were original, distinctive and very appealing in a nihilistic sort of way. The role-playing game featured a very detailed and, to me, very believable society that just begged to be the setting for stories.
The plot of ‘Geheimnisnacht’ came from a game I ran for friends and family in Edinburgh one summer. It really was that simple. I just put Gotrek and Felix into the same situation as my players had been and watched them run with it. The fun of it was not in the plot but in the way they dealt with it and in the interaction between the pair. There was as much conflict between them and their world views as there was with the sinister followers of Chaos. It was a pattern I was to follow in the next few stories.
The story was enormously enjoyable to write, and of a type I had always wanted to write – classic sword and sorcery. Gotrek and Felix are very much heroes of that genre: down at heel, wandering adventurers who live by their own code.
‘Geheimnisnacht’ was popular with the editors and another story was commissioned. For the life of me I cannot remember why I decided to have the pair light out for the Border Princes. I suspect it was because it seemed logical to me since they were wanted by the law. This led to ‘Wolf Riders’ and into another aspect of the series. Gotrek loses an eye in a fight where he pretty much slaughters an entire tribe of goblins. I wanted to do a series where characters really got wounded and did not stroll invincibly through battlefields and emerge only with cosmetic scars. This also incidentally reflected the brutal critical hit tables of the original WFRP.
The third story, ‘The Dark Beneath The World’, was an invitation to illustrate the scene on the cover of the role-playing game. It was a picture I loved and I was happy to do it. The characters were illustrations of the painted miniatures shown in the game. I lifted their names from the pages of the book, gave them some backstory and sent them on their way. The story was a chance to look at some of Gotrek’s dwarf heritage and to do a classic dungeon crawl. As with ‘Wolf Riders’, I pretty much made the plot up as I went along and stopped when I had reached the required word count. The characters carried the tale, as they always did.
The next stories represent a change of pace as well as in my technique. I was commissioned to write a book about the pair, novel length. I had never written a novel before and it was a daunting task, so I decided to make things easier by writing three linked novellas which would be longer than anything I had ever written before, but were still not quite novel length. These dealt with our heroes’ eventual return from the Border Princes and their journey to the city of Nuln. The stories were ‘The Mark of Slaanesh’, ‘Blood and Darkness’ and ‘Skaven’s Claw’ (which does not appear in this book but in Skavenslayer [the follow-up novel to Trollslayer – ed.]). You can see some of my growth as a writer. They are shown from different points of view and the plotting is somewhat more complex than random violent encounters strung together until I reached a required word count. The Slaanesh story is notable for Felix being forced to take on the role of hero as Gotrek is turned amnesiac by a blow to the head. ‘Blood and Darkness’, as its title would suggest, was the darkest and nastiest of the stories written and our heroes’ involvement is almost incidental. It is really the tale of Justine, the Chaos Warrior, and her r
eturn home in search of vengeance.
Sadly, GW Books was closed before what would have been my first novel-length work hit the stores and that seemed to be it for Gotrek and Felix. I went on to write other things until late in the 90s I ran into Andy Jones in a bar at a convention in the United States. He told me that Games Workshop were restarting their book line and asked if I would care to do some more Gotrek and Felix stories for the new fiction magazine they were planning, and perhaps a novel or two to go with it. I leapt at the chance, and in due course, ‘The Mutant Master’ and ‘Ulric’s Children’ appeared in Inferno!. The collected stories went into this volume along with the linking matter from Felix’s journal to give the whole tale some coherence.
And that is, in part, the tale of the long, strange journey of Gotrek and Felix from when it started in 1988 until their first appearance in book form in 1999. I was right when I thought they would run and run. Twenty-five years later they are still off in search of adventure.
William King
Prague, March 2013
GEHEIMNISNACHT
‘After the terrible events and nightmare adventures we endured in Altdorf, my companion and I fled southwards, following no path more certain than that chosen for us by blind chance. We took whatever means of transport presented itself: stagecoach, peasant cart, drayage wagon, resorting to our own two feet when all else failed.
‘It was a difficult and fear-filled time for me. At every turning, it seemed, we stood in imminent danger of arrest and either imprisonment or execution. I saw sheriffs in every tavern and bounty killers behind every bush. If the Trollslayer suspected that things might have been otherwise, he never bothered to communicate this information to me.
‘To one as ignorant of the true state of our legal system as I then was, it seemed all too possible that the entire apparatus of our mighty and extensive state might be bent to the apprehension of two fugitives such as ourselves. I did not then have any idea of quite how feebly and randomly the rule of law was applied. It was indeed a pity that all those sheriffs and all those bounty killers who peopled my imagination did not, in fact, exist – for perhaps then evil would not have flourished quite so strongly within the boundaries of my homeland.
‘The extent and nature of the evil was to become very clear to me one dark evening after boarding a southbound stagecoach, on what is perhaps the most ill-omened night in our entire calendar…’
— From My Travels with Gotrek, Vol. II,
by Herr Felix Jaeger (Altdorf Press, 2505)
‘Damn all manling coach drivers and all manling women,’ Gotrek Gurnisson muttered, adding a curse in dwarfish.
‘You did have to insult the lady Isolde, didn’t you?’ Felix Jaeger said peevishly. ‘As things are, we’re lucky they didn’t just shoot us. If you can call it “lucky” to be dumped in the Reikwald on Geheimnisnacht Eve.’
‘We paid for our passage. We were just as entitled to sit inside as her. The drivers were unmanly cowards,’ Gotrek grumbled. ‘They refused to meet me hand to hand. I would not have minded being spitted on steel, but being blasted with buckshot is no death for a Trollslayer.’
Felix shook his head. He could see that one of his companion’s black moods was coming on. There would be no arguing with him and Felix had plenty of other things to worry about. The sun was setting, giving the mist-covered forest a ruddy hue.
Long shadows danced eerily and brought to mind too many frightening tales of the horrors to be found under the canopy of trees.
He wiped his nose with the edge of his cloak, then pulled the Sudenland wool tight about him. He sniffed and looked at the sky where Morrslieb and Mannslieb, the lesser and greater moons, were already visible. Morrslieb seemed to be giving off a faint greenish glow. It wasn’t a good sign.
‘I think I have a fever coming on,’ Felix said. The Trollslayer looked up at him and chuckled contemptuously. In the last rays of the dying sun, his nose-chain was a bloody arc running from nostril to earlobe.
‘Yours is a weak race,’ Gotrek said. ‘The only fever I feel this eve is the battle-fever. It sings in my head.’
He turned and glared out into the darkness of the woods. ‘Come out, little beastmen!’ he bellowed. ‘I have a gift for you.’
He laughed loudly and ran his thumb along the edge of the blade of his great two-handed axe. Felix saw that it drew blood. Gotrek began to suck his thumb.
‘Sigmar preserve us, be quiet!’ Felix hissed. ‘Who knows what lurks out there on a night like this?’
Gotrek glared at him. Felix could see the glint of insane violence appear in his eyes. Instinctively Felix’s hand strayed nearer to the pommel of his sword.
‘Give me no orders, manling! I am of the Elder Race and am beholden only to the Kings Under the Mountain, exile though I be.’
Felix bowed formally. He was well schooled in the use of the sword. The scars on his face showed that he had fought several duels in his student days. He had once killed a man and so ended a promising academic career. But still he did not relish the thought of fighting the Trollslayer. The tip of Gotrek’s crested hair came only to the level of Felix’s chest, but the dwarf outweighed him and his bulk was all muscle. And Felix had seen Gotrek use that axe.
The dwarf took the bow as an apology and turned once more to the darkness. ‘Come out!’ he shouted. ‘I care not if all the powers of evil walk the woods this night. I will face any challenger.’
The dwarf was working himself up to a pitch of fury. During the time of their acquaintance Felix had noticed that the Trollslayer’s long periods of brooding were often followed by brief explosions of rage. It was one of the things about his companion that fascinated Felix. He knew that Gotrek had become a Trollslayer to atone for some crime. He was sworn to seek death in unequal combat with fearsome monsters. He seemed bitter to the point of madness – yet he kept to his oath.
Perhaps, thought Felix, I too would go mad if I had been driven into exile among strangers not even of my own race. He felt some sympathy for the crazed dwarf. Felix knew what it was like to be driven from home under a cloud. The duel with Wolfgang Krassner had caused quite a scandal.
At that moment, however, the dwarf seemed bent on getting them both killed, and he wanted no part of it. Felix continued to plod along the road, casting an occasional worried glance at the bright full moons. Behind him the ranting continued.
‘Are there no warriors among you? Come feel my axe. She thirsts!’
Only a madman would so tempt fate and the dark powers on Geheimnisnacht, Night of Mystery, in the darkest reaches of the forest, Felix decided.
He could make out chanting in the flinty, guttural tongue of the Mountain Dwarfs, then once more in Reikspiel, he heard: ‘Send me a champion!’
For a second there was silence. Condensation from the clammy mist ran down his brow. Then – from far, far off – the sound of galloping horses rang out in the quiet night.
What has that maniac done, Felix thought, has he offended one of the Old Powers? Have they sent their daemon riders to carry us off?
Felix stepped off the road. He shuddered as wet leaves fondled his face. They felt like dead men’s fingers. The thunder of hooves came closer, moving with hellish speed along the forest road. Surely only a supernatural being could keep such breakneck pace on the winding forest road? He felt his hand shake as he unsheathed his sword.
I was foolish to follow Gotrek, he thought. Now I’ll never get the poem finished. He could hear the loud neighing of horses, the cracking of a whip and mighty wheels turning.
‘Good!’ Gotrek roared. His voice drifted from the trail behind. ‘Good!’
There was a loud bellowing and four immense jet black horses drawing an equally black coach hurtled past. Felix saw the wheels bounce as they hit a rut in the road. He could just make out a black-cloaked driver. He shrank back into the bushes.
He heard the sound of fee
t coming closer. The bushes were pulled aside. Before him stood Gotrek, looking madder and wilder than ever. His crest was matted, brown mud was smeared over his tattooed body and his studded leather jerkin was ripped and torn.
‘The snotling-fondlers tried to run me over!’ he yelled. ‘Let’s get after them!’
He turned and headed up the muddy road at a fast trot. Felix noted that Gotrek was singing happily in Khazalid.
Further down the Bogenhafen road the pair found the Standing Stones Inn. The windows were shuttered and no lights showed. They could hear a neighing from the stables but when they checked there was no coach, black or otherwise, only some skittish ponies and a peddler’s cart.
‘We’ve lost the coach. Might as well get a bed for the night,’ Felix suggested. He looked warily at the smaller moon, Morrslieb. The sickly green glow was stronger. ‘I do not like being abroad under this evil light.’
‘You are feeble, manling. Cowardly too.’
‘They’ll have ale.’
‘On the other hand, some of your suggestions are not without merit. Watery though human beer is, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Felix said. Gotrek failed to spot the note of irony in his voice.
The inn was not fortified but the walls were thick, and when they tried the door they found it was barred. Gotrek began to bang it with the butt of his axe-shaft. There was no response.
‘I can smell humans within,’ Gotrek said. Felix wondered how he could smell anything over his own stench. Gotrek never washed and his hair was matted with animal fat to keep his red-dyed crest in place.
‘They’ll have locked themselves in. Nobody goes abroad on Geheimnisnacht. Unless they’re witches or daemon-lovers.’
‘The black coach was abroad,’ Gotrek said.
‘Its occupants were up to no good. The windows were curtained and the coach bore no crest of arms.’
‘My throat is too dry to discuss such details. Come on, open up in there or I’ll take my axe to the door!’